The Rise of the Dark Age
by Ms Velvela
Summary: Against all odds and hope, the Great Battle was lost. As the sole survivor of the Order, Hermione Granger awaits her death and retribution. However, she is about to find out that both Fate and the Dark Lord have much bigger plans yet in store for her...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Well, hello there! First of all, I'm delighted with the fact that you have decided to click upon this story of mine. Out of all my present ongoing WIPs, this story holds a special place within my heart. Why? Hard to explain... but I guess on some level it is the most challenging plot that I have ever dared to tackle until now. **

**At present (17.06.2011), the first four chapters of The Rise of the Dark Age are completed, with the fifth one on the way. To tell you the truth, I had my reservations for actually putting the story on this website but a couple of reviewers from another domain had kindly asked me about it... so, here I am!**

**I have found it quite hard to put one particular genre to this story. Tragedy/Drama/Mystery/Suspense most certainly... though it is a stretch to call it Romance. The presence of that word itself in one sentence with Voldemort's name gives me the willies! Lol. Obsession, yes. Possessiveness? Oh, most certainly!  
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**I guess I will just have to wait and see what your reviews will turn out to be... and then I will continue with posting the rest of the chapters (any guess in which House I should have rightfully been Sorted to yet?) Muahaha... *enter an extra evil cackle***

**Enjoy! (in a sort of way!)**

_Ms Velvela XD_

_**DISCLAIMER: **_ _The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

The young woman ignored the tears streaming relentlessly down her face as she stared up at the wizard with as much dignity as she could muster. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she absently noted that her torn, beaten-up body was like a long forgotten washing rag, flung carelessly upon the floor. Nobody seeing her now would have guessed that the dirty female in front of them and the cleverest witch of the century were the same person.

But Hermione Granger was past caring.

Against all odds and hope, she had failed. Failed to protect Harry as the fateful Killing Curse struck him, dead even before his body collided with the muddy ground. Failed to warn Ron as she helplessly watched Peter Pettigrew Apparate behind him and, with one practiced movement, broke his neck. And so many others...

Names flashed before Hermione's half-lidded eyes, accompanied by matching faces.

Ginny Weasley, lying half-draped over Harry's lifeless body after administrating an Avada upon herself at witnessing the fall of her only love. Neville Longbottom, fatefully tortured to death by the same curse that stripped his parents' sanity so many years ago. Lavender Brown, her half-naked form unseeingly staring up into the stormy sky as the grass beneath her soaked up her blood. Colin Creevy, Parvati Patil, Seamus Finnegan...

Hermione closed her eyes tightly as a fresh river of tears rushed down her face and onto the cold stone floor. She lifted her eyelids only enough to see the drops of moisture steadily pooling beneath her. Instead of being crystal clear, even her tears possessed a red tinge, an emblem of how more damaged her face was than Hermione had realized.

But she did not care anymore. Hope left her the moment the Dark defeated the Light, marking the birth of the Dark Age with Dumbledore's withered corpse piled high up with all of her friends' and teachers' bodies underneath it.

But while hope had abandoned Hermione, the pain had not.

Oh no, she did not feel the physical abuse done to her body anymore. No matter how hard the blows were or how vicious the Cruciatus curses, her body's nerves had switched off and carried her to where there was no pain, only blissful numbness.

Her emotional pain, however, stayed. And while she silently suffered the endless abuse to her body, deep inside, she was screaming. Screaming for Death to come to her and embrace her in its loving caress.

'Pray tell me, _Mudblood_, how does it feel to be abandoned by your two best cronies who you were constantly whoring around with?'

Gathering her strength, Hermione managed to open her eyes and lift her head barely enough to look back at Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort's right-hand man. As arrogant as ever, the blond wizard stared back at her with eyes so cold that it sent chilling shivers down Hermione's sweat-covered spine.

Nevertheless, mastering all that was left of her pride and stubbornness, the former Gryffindor defiantly stared back at the man she detested most. She directed all of her pure hatred and undisguised revulsion at Lucius Malfoy, the ruthless murderer, the slaughterer of his only son...

The man who had raped her.

Even now, the mere memory of how her virginity had been taken in the same room she now occupied sent uncontrollable shudders of fear and revulsion through her at her own body.

When Hermione did not grace him with a reply to his question, Malfoy seized the chance and forcefully backhanded her. As she sat on her knees, the blow of such force to her already battered face sent Hermione sprawling onto the floor, landing hard upon her left shoulder blade. Her clouded mind absently noted the sensation of how the bone went out of its socket at the collision, but the pain only faintly echoed in her body.

Hermione did not know how much time had passed since the day she was captured. For all she knew, it might have been a few weeks or months. Days just wouldn't have been sufficient time to put her body into such a state of suffering and exhaustion. As she lay there, motionless at Malfoy's polished boots, the only thing she could do was squint at them while her breath came in short and irregular gasps. A pair of ribs broken some time back prevented her from any further movement.

'I see that the strict discipline has not managed to break your wretched spirit of a lioness,' drawled Malfoy lazily, shifting his boot to the side of her face. With a little pressure, he tilted her into an uncomfortable angle so that her bloodshot eyes would meet his own.

'Although I do not doubt that a few correctly chosen spells and more satisfactory methods of torture will bring forth your complete obedience – sooner or later.'

Upon seeing that his victim did not have any intention of answering him, his foot pushed so forcefully against her cheekbone that she wouldn't have been surprised to hear bones cracking under the pressure.

'No worries, Mudslut. Soon you will open that mouth of yours for more than just simple words. Much to my shame, I feel obliged to confess that in contradiction to how much filth flows through your veins, your body felt more than pleasant the last time I had it writhing beneath mine,' came Malfoy's husky whisper, mimicking the naked lust that now coated his eyes.

'What, can't find a willing participant who will let your sorry excuse for a dick into their hole, Your Highness?' rasped Hermione. It had been so long since she had spoken that the sound of her own voice now sounded alien to her ears.

Hermione's clouded eyes detected how Malfoy first paled and then rapidly reddened in outrage at her words. Sweet Nimue, all men were the same. The look in his eyes informed her that if she searched for death, her wish would soon be granted.

With a snarl Malfoy kicked her so hard in the stomach that Hermione's body rolled away from him to soundly collide with the bare wall. Even without feeling the whole intensity of the pain, Hermione couldn't help herself but grunt as her head forcefully connected with the stone, blinding her vision for a few moments.

Unfortunately, unconsciousness did not overtake her, and she was left lying there staring unfocused at the long-haired wizard who transformed his infamous cane into a wand by pulling the silver snake's head. His arm visibly shook with the extremity of his indignation as he pointed it towards Hermione's helpless form.

But instead of feeling fear, the witch felt distinct peace overtake her at the knowledge that everything would soon be over.

She closed her eyes in surrender as Malfoy opened his mouth.

'_Avada Ke-_'

'_Expelliarmus_!'

Shock at the sudden, bellowed command gave Hermione force to open her shuddering eyelids and see the now wandless Lucius Malfoy standing in profile to her. She had no notion whom he was facing, lying as she was in a heap of broken bones. The sole detail that failed to slip by her was how his face mortally paled a moment before an unrecognizable voice screamed out his rage again.

'_Crucio!_'

The Unforgivable aimed at Malfoy forced an agonized scream to escape his throat as he collapsed onto the floor on all fours. The further prolonging of the spell found him helplessly thrashing in pain on his back as all of his muscles cramped. From experience, Hermione knew the endless agony of that particular spell, the way it seemed to burn your muscles right to the very bone, leaving you to wonder if the very marrow of your bones was roasting in the fires of Hell.

Once, there was a time when Hermione would have felt genuine compassion for a human being who had been subjected to such a magnitude of pain.

In this day and age, the only thing she let herself feel was satisfaction. A perverse sense of happiness in seeing her torturer writhing upon the cold stone floor, under the control of the very spell he himself had inflicted upon her so many countless times before.

She felt her face muscles painfully stretch and realized that she was smiling. Smiling at the scene in front of her.

It seemed like many minutes passed before Malfoy's body stopped its frantic movements. Even though the spell was finally lifted, his semi-comatose form couldn't help but spasmodically convulse with every irregular breath. Hermione's eyes met his as he finally lifted his eyelids, and there she saw something that she had never thought possible to witness in his arctic eyes.

Fear.

And before she could lift her eyes towards the doorway, a voice spoke. A voice that she finally recognized. A voice that haunted Hermione in her dreams, the voice that taunted her for letting her loved ones die while she herself had survived. A voice that wasn't really a voice. A hiss.

'You have gone against my orders twice now, Lucius. You know your fate.'

With horror filling her heart to the brim, Hermione looked up and beheld the tall figure of Lord Voldemort.

'Master, please! Forgive me! The Mudslut insult-' began Malfoy, but the next moment, he collided with the wall mere feet away from where Hermione herself lay.

'I did not permit you to speak, _servant_!' thundered Voldemort.

The blond wizard inclined his head in silent submission, all the way down until his forehead touched the floor. Wisely keeping his mouth shut, Malfoy cowered before his master's dark form, causing Hermione to grimace in distaste at such a disgraceful show of meekness.

Unfortunately for her, the dark wizard must have noticed the change in her expression, for the next moment, he appeared directly in front of her. With her breath involuntary quickening, Hermione tried in vain to press her back more firmly against the wall as he slowly crouched in front of her. A coal-black cloak silently pooled around his half-sitting form, touching the hem of Hermione's own torn clothes.

Unable to tear her eyes away, she found herself staring unblinkingly at the figure in front of her. The dark hood obscured Voldemort's face from view, creating shadows that normally should not have been there. But from within all that darkness, two crimson eyes stared back at her. Eyes that couldn't belong to a human. From what she had heard, the feared wizard no longer fully possessed the body of a human being.

With her horror increasing, Hermione saw Voldemort's gloved hand reach for her face. Like a hypnotized rabbit before a coiling snake, she had nothing else left to do but wait for the inevitable. When the tips of his fingers touched her tear-stained face, an unintentional intake of breath escaped her at the coldness that seemed to slip from him. With only his fingertips touching, Voldemort lightly circled her cheekbones, passing over her broken nose until he traced the outline of her swollen and bloodied bottom lip.

'Amazing,' he hissed so low that it was almost a whisper. 'A mere slip of a girl lives through six months of Cruciatus and beatings without making a sound. Most of my Death Eaters would not remain sane after one month of the same torture.'

Hermione had to bite her tongue to not let a sharp retort escape from her.

Voldemort's unreadable red eyes lifted back from her mouth to focus on her brown ones. Hermione instantly tensed, sensing that the creature in front of her had the power to see into the very core of her soul.

'Tell me, Miss Granger,' he whispered, bringing his face a bit closer to hers until the only thing Hermione could see were his serpentine eyes framed among all that darkness. 'What do you want?'

The question caught her off guard, but she kept her face carefully schooled into blankness. It was perhaps the use of her name that she hadn't heard for so many months that made her speak up for a second time that evening.

'Death.'

For a moment, those inhuman eyes looked intrigued, but it came and went away so swiftly that she doubted she even saw it.

'Perhaps the fact that your most sacred wish did not come true shows that there is still a purpose for you in this world.'

Hermione surprised herself by emitting a short laugh, the sound bitterly scratching her ears.

'Purpose? What duty do I have left here? My place now is on the other side of the Veil where all the people that I have ever loved are waiting for me,' she rasped, looking now deeply into the eyes of the wizard she hated the most.

Ignoring the silent pleading that must have shone clearly within her gaze, the wizard finally let his hand fall from her person and stood back up. Without sparing a second glance at the girl lying at his feet, he stepped towards the still-bowing form of Lucius Malfoy.

'For now, I forgive your folly, Lucius,' he sneered, graciously letting a revived Malfoy kiss the hem of his long cloak. But as his servant struggled to get onto his knees, he lazily added, 'But you know what will happen to you if you cross the line yet again. Even by a hint. It will be a pity to lose one of my most loyal servants to Nagini's playful offspring.'

If it was possible, Malfoy's face paled even further.

'You are dismissed.'

Not daring to push his luck further, the blond wizard staggered to his shaking feet. However, before he could exit the chamber, Voldemort's cold voice stopped him in his tracks.

'Order one of the Healers to be brought here. I believe it is time for Miss Granger to get acquainted with the new world.'

'As my Master commands,' Lucius said, bowing deeply, his voice not completely even. Hermione chanced to see a look of deep suspicion and disbelief momentarily flash across his countenance before he made his hasty retreat.

Hermione felt her head swirling in panicking disbelief. Why would she be healed? How much had the world changed from the one in which she had been born and raised? And most importantly, what was it that Voldemort intended to do with her?

'Too many questions, Miss Granger,' came the cold response. Hermione went all rigid. She had completely forgotten about his talent in Legilimency. With as much force as she had left, she tried to conjure mental walls around her mind, but she already knew that they wouldn't help a wisp against the wizard in front of her.

Short hissing sounds that dimly resembled the act of laughter were answer enough.

'Do not tire yourself with something so foolish. With or without your barriers, I will open up those corners of your mind and soul, the vast existence of which you cannot even start to comprehend.'

Hermione watched his cloaked form glide towards the doorway with cold dread wrapping her in its clutches. Whatever that fiend meant, she knew that his words were not empty. The only thing she had left to do was pray. Pray that she would die before Voldemort could gain authority over her inner self, the only thing that was left in her utterly destroyed shell.

Her heart gave an unpleasant skip when Voldemort paused momentarily at the entrance to the room after conjuring the dreaded wards back into place. With them went all possibility of her ever escaping from her dungeon prison. His eyes gave a strange glint as he looked down at her beaten and bloody figure. A body which was occupied by an as of yet unbroken spirit.

Hermione felt the consciousness rapidly slipping from her, but she fought to keep her eyes open. The weariness won, and she started to fall into a dimension where nothing mattered anymore. The last thing she heard before the darkness took her was a whispered promise.

'_Sooner or later, you will be mine, Hermione Granger_.'


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello, my lovelies! First of all, I wanna thank you all for such lovely reviews! There is truly nothing better within any writing hobby/work, then to know that your written word is appreciated :) **

**Secondly, I have to confess that the following chapter is so far my favourite one (out of the four I have already completed)! Therefore, I hope you enjoy the continuation of this tale... and I am most excitedly waiting to read your upcoming reviews *rubs hands in anticipation***

**Therefore, with no further ado, enjoy!**

**Ms Velvela XD**

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><p><em><strong>DISCLAIMER: <strong>The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

_'...you let us die...'_

_'...we were so young...'_

_'...we wanted to live...'_

_The huddled figure upon the ground rocked steadily to the rhythm of her heart. The place did not belong to either darkness or light as the eternal twilight had put its veil above the treeless hills. There was no need to put up her head to see the shapeless stones that lay scattered around the land as far as the eye could see._

_She had been there too many times not to know what they truly were._

_But it was not the remains of Hogwarts that truly disturbed the soul. The stones were only a drop in the ocean that served as a reminder of what had happened because of her failure._

_The true torture began with the voices, words that cut to her heart every time they spoke._

_'...how could you...'_

_'...we believed in you...'_

_The voices stopped abruptly._

_When she at last lifted her eyes, the hill was no longer deserted. In front of her huddling form, as far as she could see, stood all the people she had ever known. Mother, Father, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Ginny, Victor, Colin, Neville...all those who had perished in the doom that descended with the Darkness._

_Their lips did not move, but the voices drifted in the windless air. Eyes stared impassively at the yet unharmed soul, the only one who had not fallen among them. The one who still lived, while they were dead._

_'...so clever, and all for nothing...'_

_'...your soul will burn in the fires of hell for that...'_

_But the worst was yet to come._

_She helplessly watched as the bodies silently parted, making a passage in their midst. Into the clearing stepped two figures...two people she would have recognized anywhere._

_Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Best friends. One of them so bloodied that she could not have identified him if she had not known him so well._

_'I trusted you,' came his voice. Blood oozed from the gash on his head, but he did not even blink as the ruby liquid dropped into his eyes – as green as ever from behind his broken glasses._

_'We all trusted you,' came Ron's confirmation. He would have looked unharmed if his broken neck had supported the weight of his head._

_The figure started to rock again, more rapidly now. All the accusations...blaming...she deserved it. She had failed to find the solution for how to vanquish the Dark Lord; it was she who had failed to come up with the right formula to use Voldemort's weakness against him. So much for knowledge...all for nothing._

_Then came a phrase that had never before been voiced within the nightmares._

_'You know, I loved you, 'Mione.'_

_The figure did not cry._

_She wailed. A sound of anguish so raw, that the echo of it remained among the hills long after they became deserted._

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><p>Hermione woke up to her own screaming.<p>

Her hands thrashed out frantically around her even as her body instinctively reduced itself into a foetal position. Loud sobs convulsed her frail body, and an endless stream of tears ran down her cheeks. Unable to stop herself, her mind replayed the dream repeatedly behind her closed eyelids, forcing her to experience everything anew.

Time did not seem to possess the ability to heal guilt and the nightmares were becoming harsher and more vivid with every passing day.

As always, it took a considerable amount of time for Hermione to calm down again. Countless minutes must have passed before her heart rate went back to normal, while her mind frantically detached itself from the dream. Lately, it was rather hard to figure out where reality began and the nightmare ended.

Tears were still flowing from her brown eyes when she at last lifted her eyelids.

The first thing her eyes told her when they finally focused was that the ceiling was unfamiliar. As she lay there gathering her senses, Hermione further noted that the too-familiar coldness of the dungeon floor was absent. Her still shaking fingers instinctively reached out to brush against the cold stones of the floor but instead dug themselves into something soft. A mattress, she suddenly realised.

She was lying on a bed.

Shutting her eyes again, Hermione gathered all of her strength and lifted herself to a sitting position. Her body instinctively tensed for the pain that would surely follow, but nothing happened. Hermione felt unusually empty. As she braced herself against the headboard, she tried to figure out what was wrong. Only when her eyes landed at last upon her clean, unbroken fingers, did she comprehend why she felt so strange.

She was healed. Fully.

Before her mind could replay what had happened before she last fell unconscious, her healed, sensitive ears detected a sound. Snapping her head up, Hermione saw the handle of the room's wooden door move. Following reflex, Hermione moved as fast as her weak body would permit, flinging herself to the other side of the bed. Her body fell to the carpet, where she allowed only her eyes to peek above the edge.

With her breath coming in silent gasps, Hermione watched the door silently draw open, letting two women in grey robes into the chamber. A man in a dark cloak, who closed the door after himself, followed closely behind them. Even without a silver mask, Hermione knew a Death Eater when she saw one.

The silence stretched as the man wordlessly looked at the empty bed illuminated by the orange light from the fireplace. His dark eyes, however, quickly landed upon Hermione's half-revealed face.

'Stop the foolishness, Mudblood, and come out of there. You are wasting my time.'

As he stood beside the fireplace, Hermione felt a pang of déjà vu as she studied the wizard's face. Even so, she was unable to recall where she had seen him before.

Almost against her will, Hermione straightened out from behind the four-poster bed. All of her five senses were coming back to her at a leisurely pace, so she did not realise that she was not wearing a stitch of clothing until the Death Eater's eyes scanned her nakedness. When his eyes met hers once more, Hermione cringed at the lust she saw there.

The wizard interpreted her expression correctly.

'Do not worry yourself, slut. Unfortunately, I have explicit orders to stay as far from your body as possible, so your virtue is safe with me,' he drawled, his sarcasm not lost on her.

He carelessly waved towards the two women who stood immobile in the middle of the room, staring into nothingness.

'These are the Healers who have stuck your bones back together,' he explained darkly, his black eyes glinting in the firelight. 'And they are the ones who are going to prepare you properly so that you may present yourself to your Lord in an appropriate manner.'

'I do not care if you drag me to him naked as the day I was born,_ Death Eater_,' spat Hermione venomously, finally finding her husky voice.

The man chuckled.

'Lucius was right, you truly are an entertaining piece of work,' he said observantly, before his smile widened evilly. 'You don't remember me, do you?'

Hermione's silence forced another laugh out of the young man.

'Oh, my! The cleverest witch of the century, the annoying know-it-all, doesn't know the answer to a question!' he exclaimed gleefully, clapping his hands in mocking applause.

'At least one of us has a brain.'

The Death Eater moved so fast that, to Hermione's eyes, he was a blur of blackness before he appeared right in front of her. With the speed of a striking snake, his hand shot out and grabbed hold of her curls, yanking her ruthlessly towards his face.

'Yes, that's what everybody else thought too. That I was a brainless fool. They ignored the grades I studied so hard to achieve, turned a blind eye to one of the best Arithmancy students of the past two centuries...and all because one twit of a girl outshone the rest of us, half-wits,' he growled into her face.

The witch could not help but shudder in fright underneath his fingers. The man's attractive face transformed into a horrible mask as outrage creased itself into his skin.

A sudden realization hit Hermione. Those dark eyes...cropped black hair...tall frame that she has seen often enough in the midst of Draco Malfoy's gang.

Hermione's mouth opened and closed a few times before she could form the right words.

'Blaise...Blaise Zabini.'

He did not reply. His eyes dropped to her mouth instead, smirking as he watched her tongue dart out to moisten her dry lips in a nervous gesture.

With his hand still planted painfully in the midst of her hair, Zabini brought his face uncomfortably close to hers. His mouth wavered a mere inch from hers as he deliberately inhaled, his nostrils flaring as if trying to detect the scent of her skin.

'Mmm...for someone so filthy, you smell too sweet. My only hope is that before the Dark Lord finally decides to grant you death, he will be merciful and give you to me first. I have to confess that it will be my endless pleasure to succeed where Lucius Malfoy failed.'

The wizard made a move recoil but changed his mind in mid-action. Bringing his dark head back to hers, Zabini's lips brushed across Hermione's left ear with his every word.

'However, you never know. Maybe you will be lucky enough to be given to me as a permanent present from our Lord.'

'He might be your Lord, but I will never live under his rule,' Hermione whispered back.

Letting go of her harshly and causing the witch to sway unsteadily upon her feet, the Death Eater briskly headed towards the door. But before he made his exit from the chamber, Zabini's hand came to rest upon the door frame. A slight frown graced his features as he regarded Hermione's naked form with mocking suspicion.

'Here's a helpful tip; don't bother trying to persuade these women to help you escape or even to converse with you. They have been under Imperio too long now, and their minds have long since departed from their bodies. The two of them will bring you to the Lord as soon as you have been dolled up.'

With those words, Zabini finally turned away and disappeared.

Hermione only flinched but did not make any further movement as the two Healers approached her.

She finally, slowly began to remember what had happened the last time darkness took her. Lucius Malfoy, with his forever-cutting remarks and abusive use of her body...the sudden appearance of Voldemort. The dark wizard's visible displeasure with something that Malfoy had done twice against his orders.

There was something else. Some whispered words that she had heard before she fell unconscious. But no matter how much she tried, Hermione's mind could remember neither their content nor their meaning.

But none of that seemed to be important now.

The only thing Hermione knew for sure, as she tried not to look at the vacant eyes of the women guiding her to the stool in front of a mirror, was that there was no difference between the places she visited during her dreams and the one she was awake in now.

She had left her nightmare, only to find herself in another one.

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><p>Shadows danced around the chamber, providing the perfect camouflage for the countless figures standing immobile, the only colour that of the paleness of their faces. Even their long, black cloaks did not dare make a single movement as their owners stared patiently in front of them. Waiting for any command, no matter what order. But even their ruthlessness lacked the power to vanquish the tiniest spark of fear that was present in every pair of eyes.<p>

It was meant to be that way.

Lord Voldemort regarded the people below him, looking at every Death Eater in turn. His hood expertly hid his face in shadow, but he could see a shiver run across every person on whom his red eyes landed. They might not have been able to see it, but they felt too well the coldness of his gaze, a chill that none of them could ever rival. Even then, they tried in vain to show their equanimity towards his undeniable power.

'_Fools_...' hissed the Dark Lord into the air, 'I can taste your fear on my tongue.' His gloved hand reached out and made a movement of snatching something from the air. 'I can practically catch the rapid beating of your mortal hearts.'

Another collective shiver ran through the gathered crowd.

It was a test, one of many that Voldemort made a habit of practicing upon his followers. His emotional games had the capability of seeking out the weakest of the Death Eaters and singling out the strongest. The former broke down in the end, no longer able to stand under the pressure their Lord was inflicting upon them. He used their own fears and nightmares against them, not once raising his wand in the process.

'The Light has been vanquished under the reign of Darkness, as it was long prophesied,' continued Voldemort, easing himself onto his granite throne. 'The legendary United Kingdom is conquered under my name. The whole of Europe is under my ultimate control. But that does not mean, my servants, that I have won the rest of the world!'

He suddenly jumped up from his seat and proceeded to take slow, deliberate steps across the raised platform. His sudden movement startled a number of his henchmen. Antonin Dolohov, standing closest to the dais, took an instinctive step backwards in evident alarm.

_First weaknesses_.

Fortunately for Dolohov, however, Voldemort's interest did not lie with him that night. No, there was someone else whose time had come to leave the Dark Lord's service after all his use had leaked away. And there was but one solitary way to depart from under Lord Voldemort's rule.

His lips stretching into a smile that none could see, the dark wizard returned to his seat. Every movement of his body held a meaning, a symbolism that wasn't lost even upon the thickest of his servants. Without hesitation, the Dark Lord deliberately turned his back on more than fifty Death Eaters...an act that, if performed by any other soul, would have been the most secure way towards suicide.

He did not fear them, and they knew that.

The silence stretched as Voldemort continued to observe the figures in his presence. Enough time passed for another nervous stirring to make its way among the Death Eaters, for them to wonder about the real reason their Lord had called the unscheduled meeting.

'Wormtail!'

Every black-cloaked person in the room jumped at the Dark Lord's sudden bark. Nerves were running high.

A single wizard detached himself from the group. Voldemort barely regarded Peter Pettigrew as a man, not to mention his servant's magical abilities. He watched in disdain as the shivering body of the short man stepped forward towards the dais. Voldemort's nostrils flared at the amount of fear radiating from him.

'Y-yes, My Lord,' mumbled Pettigrew.

'Tell me, Peter, who do you regard yourself as among my followers?'

Voldemort stole a glance towards the other Death Eaters. As was expected, many of them failed to withhold genuine expressions of wonderment, unable to detect the reason behind the interrogation. Only Severus Snape wore a blank mask upon his face as he stared unblinkingly at Peter Pettigrew. Only he had figured out the danger behind his Dark Lord's seemingly straightforward question.

Lord Voldemort smiled in satisfaction. Another reason to get rid of Lucius and appoint Severus Snape as his right-hand Death Eater in his stead.

The human rat in front of him spluttered, at a loss for words.

'Do not dare to waste my precious time, Wormtail. Otherwise, I am sure Rodolphus will be more than happy to help you speed up your answering process.'

A convulsing shiver ran along Pettigrew's body at the mention of the wizard's name. Upon his fortune, he did not see the eager smile that crossed Rodolphus Lestrange's face as he looked up towards Voldemort with clear eagerness in his eyes.

_If there really are people made for each other,_ mused Voldemort, _Rodolphus and Bellatrix's match must have truly been made in hell_.

Ignoring Lestrange's hopeful look for the time being, the Lord focused his attention back on Pettigrew. No matter how great was his own temptation to simply let Rodolphus finish Pettigrew off, he never abandoned his plans.

Indeed, he meant to play the game until the very end.

'_Wormtail_,' came the dangerous hiss.

The animal within Pettigrew must have instinctually felt the danger because he instantly started to blubber:

'I am your loyal servant, My L-Lord! Wormtail is low, very low in comparison to the g-greatness and power of your other servants, but I always obeyed you, D-Dark Lord. None could compare to the amount of loyalty that I- I hold for you!'

'Loyalty, Wormtail?' This time Voldemort mused out loud. 'If your _loyalty_ is the greatest of all among my followers, I am afraid to think of what would have become of me the first day the Knights of Walpurgis became known as Death Eaters under my direction.'

An uneasy laughter filled the chamber. Severus Snape's face, however, stayed impassive, watching intently.

Pettigrew stayed huddled upon the stone floor, still not meeting Voldemort's eyes. Fear seemed to solidify around him, forcing the dark wizard to cringe at the scent. Usually, he bathed in the arousing smell of fear that ultimately came from his every prey. However, from Pettigrew, the smell felt filthy, a sense of something that was used too often under his endless cowardice. This time, Voldemort stood up from his throne slowly, the cloak unable to hide the fluid motion of his body. Mere months ago, the weakness of his skeletally thin body would not have allowed him such a demonstration of flawless control and strength.

Though he did not look, he felt the astonishment circling the room. Moreover, there was no need for magic to guess that a knowing half-smirk was most probably now gracing Snape's thin lips.

Voldemort began to steadily climb down the stairs towards the cowering creature. With his every soundless step, Pettigrew pressed himself further against the stones. By the time the Dark Lord was a foot away from him, the Animagus looked like he wished for nothing else than for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

'Tell me, _loyal_ servant, if you are practically nothing compared to the rest of my followers, what is the reason for you to linger among the most skilful dark wizards of the century?' enquired Voldemort in a calm voice.

Taking the lack of anger in his master's tone as a positive sign, Pettigrew momentarily raised his head from the floor and looked at him with a quivering mouth.

'Bec- because I have helped to restore you to your h-human body, the body that you inhabit now, My Lord. My flesh r-raised you back to your former g-glory!'

A short, cold laugh pierced the air.

'Oh, Peter, you do not know how wrong you are.'

A sudden commotion at the other side of the room forced the hooded wizard to raise his eyes from Wormtail.

Seeing that the door had opened and a young Death Eater stood in the doorway with a polite enquiry on his face, Voldemort smirked.

'Ah, I see that the missing company has finally arrived. Let the guest come forward.'

Bowing, the youth stepped to the side, leaving the entrance vacant. Voldemort returned to his emerald-coloured throne, leaving the quivering mass of robes that was Wormtail behind. The dark wizard preferred to watch the rest of the show from above.

Quiet whispering broke among the rest of the wizards and witches in the room. Nevertheless, Voldemort detected a taste of suppressed excitement in the air around him. Public executions and various other crude activities were far from unpopular among the Dark Lord's flock. Most of them, without doubt, were already looking forward to the probability of upcoming amusement, whether it be torture or rape.

The moment the figure stepped into the room, all voices hushed.

Lord Voldemort let his eyes explore the young woman being escorted between two Death Eaters.

_Hermione Jean Granger_.

With his hood obscuring any hint of his face from the world, the Dark Lord's eyes roved over the female with considerable pleasure. True to his plans, the former Gryffindor lioness wore a set of wine-coloured dress robes that clung tightly in the bodice and over her hips. Even the numerous months of hunger could not diminish the natural curves of her body. The neckline was low enough to give more than a hint of her cleavage, exposing her alabaster skin to the public. Her hair, which had grown since her imprisonment, was left unbound and permitted her heavy ringlets to fall all the way down to her waist.

She was truly beautiful and regal.

However, what was most admirable in the young woman was her stubbornness. Even sandwiched between two Death Eaters, her brown eyes did not lose their spark, fully exposing her unyielding spirit to everyone present. Her steps were purposeful, her eyes looking at nothing but straight in front of her.

If the Dark Lord was fascinated by anything, it was strength.

The trio stopped in front of the dais, mere feet from where Wormtail lay.

Watching closely, Voldemort assessed the girl's expression. She, however, did not seem to notice anything around herself and continued to stare into space. If not for the firm set of her jaw, he would have thought that she had already lost it.

But the girl, it seemed, had been born to fight.

'My precious servants!' he proclaimed. 'Allow me to introduce you to one whom you most probably already know or have ultimately heard about...Miss Hermione Granger, former best friend of Harry Potter and the guest of the evening.'

The young woman did not even flinch as laughter broke out in the room. Neither did she give any indication of her knowledge regarding the leering looks the male Death Eaters were coating her with.

Lord Voldemort, on the other hand, did not fail to catch a single look or expression in front of him. The witch's beauty was significant enough that the eyes of the female Death Eaters lingered upon her as well, adding to the tension in the air.

'Will anyone among you dare to present an idea as to why Miss Granger is in this chamber tonight?' asked the Dark Lord, skilfully masking his amusement.

A shadow of hesitance rippled among all gathered. Years of being in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's service had taught most of them about the slippery ground under the word "dare". But there were always fools who pushed their luck too far.

As if to prove his theory, Lucius Malfoy spoke out boldly in answer to the challenge.

'Are we to assume, My Lord, that the Mudblood slut will serve as our entertainment for tonight?'

A deathly hush fell within the vast chamber, every countenance turned towards their Master for the much-desired confirmation.

'_Wrong_.'

Voldemort's ominous word rang like a curse along the stone walls. Power shifted in the air as he let the illusion covering his eyes disappear so that only their redness couldbe seen in the darkness of his hood. All of the gathered wizards and witches dropped their eyes away from him in an instant, not daring to face the subject of their own nightmares. Lucius Malfoy turned a shade paler but did not avert his eyes like the others.

A fatal mistake.

'How _dare_ you look into my eyes like an equal! Or perhaps you count yourself to be in possession of greater power than me? Maybe you wish to challenge me to a _duel_, servant?'

The power of Voldemort's sudden rage brought him to his feet. Malfoy realised his folly too late and made a hasty, shaking bow to him. Even then, it seemed the wizard's nauseating arrogance would not bring him to the crouching state of Pettigrew.

'I am growing tired of you, Lucius. _Crucio_!'

The blond wizard only then fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Screams rebounded from the walls as quickly as he had time to draw breath. Too little time had passed since his last measure of the Cruciatus, and in mere minutes, Lucius Malfoy's body went limp. He was lucky that unconsciousness had finally taken over.

'_Pathetic_,' spat Voldemort.

The cloaked figures were as still as statues now. No one dared to make a sound, in case they should attract the Dark Lord's wrath upon them next.

For a countless time that evening, he retook his sit. He made sure to sweep a glance over all the gathered Death Eaters before it rested upon the most prominent subject of his latest thoughts.

'Miss Granger, perhaps you would like to guess why I requested your presence here today?'

He watched intently as the young woman's gaze snapped towards him. Her eyes unflinchingly met his, even as her chin lifted up in silent defiance.

'Only to end up lying like your blond dog here? No, thanks. I am sure that if you wanted to kill me, you wouldn't need any encouragement on my part,' she replied. Her voice travelled clearly, echoing in the silence. Her eyes, however, still held that same pleading look that had been present back in her dungeon prison.

'I do not think so,' he said. His answer served for both of her questions. A momentary hopelessness flashed across her face before she regained her former blank composure.

'Then I do not care what you do to me, Riddle. Sooner or later, I will find a way to end my life myself.'

Gasps broke out all around them, brought about not by the confirmation of a wish to commit suicide but by her deliberate use of a name that not one soul had dared to even think in the presence of the Dark Lord. The Death Eaters could not suppress their eagerness as they watched the upcoming actions of their Master.

So, to say that every soul present was shocked when a cold but merry laugh broke out from the Dark Lord would have been a terrifying understatement.

The sheer astonishment that appeared on Hermione Granger's face only prolonged the sound of his hissing laugh. Some time passed before he at last mastered control over himself, but a hint of amusement was still present in his voice when he spoke next.

'Marvellous, Miss Granger...simply marvellous. You are the first person to defy me so openly in person, and I have killed for less.'

'Then what are you waiting for?'

Lord Voldemort mockingly shook his hooded head.

'A clever and subtle attempt to end your life, but it won't work. Fortunately, I have planned something else for you instead.'

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><p>Hermione felt trapped.<p>

Both physically and mentally. She was tired of fighting...battling for something that she herself did not know. The sole thing she was aware of was that she would have been long dead if she had given up during one of the numerous torture, releasing her soul to freedom.

Instead, it seemed that she was stuck living. Hermione knew what to blame for that inconvenient fact – her blasted, cursed courage. Ironically, it was the same factor that had gotten her into Gryffindor. What had brought her years of happiness once upon a time now proved to be her undoing.

Therefore, when she spoke next, tiredness weighed heavily in her voice.

'What do you want from me, for Merlin's sake? You have taken everything you could from me. My family, friends, teachers. Everyone I ever loved and who loved me in return. There is nothing else left in me.'

The red eyes above her betrayed not one flicker of emotion as they stared back into hers. His black-hooded head was cocked slightly to the side, inspecting her like a hawk.

'Nothing left? I am afraid you have given the wrong answer for the first time in your life, witch. There are plenty of things left in your seemingly shattered soul, things that I have no interest in stripping you of.'

His frightening gaze fell upon something to her right.

'Tell me, Wormtail, do you by any chance remember Miss Granger here?'

Hermione went rigid.

Slowly, as if in some twisted dream, she followed the direction of Voldemort's inspection. Her face failed to betray one single emotion that was whirling inside of her as she stared at the curled figure of Peter Pettigrew, quivering five feet away from her.

The Animagus only whimpered in answer to Voldemort's question.

'I have asked you a question, filth!'

It seemed impossible for Pettigrew to huddle against the floor further but he did. He pressed his disgustingly shuddering body against the ground until he seemed to fuse with it.

'Y-yes...My Lord,' he finally managed to stutter.

Hermione paid a minimum amount of attention to the spoken exchange. Her face might not have betrayed her, but her eyes unleashed all the hatred and rage she felt for the pitiful excuse for a wizard in front of her. For months, the sole topic of her blame had been centred upon herself, and she did not even bother to pay heed to all the others who were accountable for her pain. When her eyes landed upon that creature at last – the man who had killed Ron right in front of her eyes – she subconsciously located the deliverance for all her pent-up pain and wrath.

She felt a momentary pull in her mind a second before Voldemort spoke up again.

'_Yesss_... Think about it. Doesn't he deserve even more than that?'

Hermione's eyes, as well as her anger, focused upon him.

'Stop using your Legilimency upon me!' she hissed.

Ignoring her blunt provocation, the dark wizard scooted forwards on his throne and pointed a gloved finger at Pettigrew.

'That vermin betrayed you and your people, Miss Granger. That piece of filth brought into action a chain of events that would not have been accomplished without his role. Think about it carefully...very carefully. His cowardice led Lily and James Potter to their deaths. If not for him, Sirius Black most probably would have stayed alive. If not for him, I might never have been granted a solid body. His voice uttered the Killing Curse at that other boy during the Triwizard Tournament. And finally...'

Without warning, Voldemort vanished from his throne. Hermione could not suppress a silent gasp when, in the next moment, his voice sounded dangerously close to her ear.

'...that same man killed one of your best friends; someone, who in the future might have become more than just a friend.'

The young woman closed her eyes as the emotions battled for dominance inside of her. Fright inevitably squeezed her heart painfully at the knowledge of who now stood behind her. It was practically impossible to Apparate that effortlessly...that silently. Moreover, in such a short time. Unthinkable.

'Ronald Weasley...' whispered Lord Voldemort practically into her ear, his cloak almost touching the hem of her clothes, '...the wizard you always secretly loved deep within your heart. A man you knew from your childhood, with whom you experienced happiness and pain, victory and defeat. The same wizard who always loved you in return.'

Helpless tears began to fall from behind her closed eyelids. The spoken words were too close to the truth. Despair began to eat at her heart anew. But Voldemort had not finished yet.

His gloved hand came to rest upon her shoulder, a movement that made Hermione cringe inwardly. With a slight pressure, the dark wizard turned her smaller frame so that she faced Pettigrew squarely.

'Look at him, Hermione. He is not a wizard, not even a man. A coward who has always cared for his own well-being, following people who could raise his esteem. A traitor whose body is too transfigured by the animal living inside of him to care for others. If he had a chance, he would have killed all of your friends himself.'

Upon detecting a pitiful, whimpering sound, Hermione finally opened her eyes. Pettigrew presented a wretched sight with his crouched body and bowed head. Even through her tears, she found herself grimacing at the meekness of surrender radiating from him. Unconsciously, she found herself agreeing with the voice of reason behind her. She drank his every word like a person dying of thirst. Anything to lessen the unbearable weight of guilt inside her heart.

'Does he deserve to live? To walk upon the earth while all of your loved ones are forever gone from you?' came the whisper in her ear, closer than before.

'N-no.'

Hermione would have expected to feel anything from despair to embarrassment at hearing such a confession come out of her mouth. Instead, the only thing she experienced was rightness. Along with that rightness disappeared a notch of her ever-present guilt.

'No,' she repeated more forcefully, not once taking her eyes away from Peter Pettigrew.

'Godric Gryffindor himself would have given the same answer.'

At that comment, Hermione was ready to turn and look behind her, but Voldemort stepped away before she could complete the movement. Without looking at her, his tall frame advanced towards the crouching form that by that time was sobbing soundly.

'Alas, Wormtail, it seems that your pitiful rat days have finally come to an end,' pronounced Voldemort almost joyously, standing above his victim.

The witch could practically hear the moment when Pettigrew's nerves finally snapped.

'_No_! My Lord, I beg you! Do not kill the most loyal servant that has ever entered your service! The Mudblood does not know what she is talking about, her mind has become deranged since the deaths of her kin...I am useful! Indeed, I can be very useful –'

Voldemort cut him off.

'You are as useful to me as vermin in a household. Although, even they do not dare pollute the air with their disdainful breath as you do!'

'B-but –'

'_Silence_!'

Uttering another squeal, the wizard fell silent.

'Besides,' continued Voldemort more calmly, circling the lying man, 'whatever gave you the idea that I am going to kill you?'

'Oh, t-thank you my–'

'Miss Granger is going to have that honour instead.'

For some unknown reason, Hermione was not surprised. Voldemort might have been the essence of evil itself, Devil in flesh, a demented murderer, but he was not an idiot. For whatever reason his twisted mind had created, he had planned this ever since she came into the chamber, if not earlier.

Some part of her felt sheer astonishment radiate from the rest of the Death Eaters in the room. _Well_, she thought bitterly satisfied, _it is pleasant to know that I am not the only one who is in the dark about what is going on in You-Know-Who's mind._

Amidst her musings, the dark wizard managed to glide back towards her. However, instead of stationing himself behind her, Voldemort stopped beside her left shoulder. This time, he made sure that their clothes touched.

'He destroyed the man you loved, Hermione.' His hand snaked around her waist, pressing her body against his darkness. 'It is your duty to avenge your lover now.'

Brown eyes clashed with scarlet.

'I am _not_ a murderer,' she whispered vehemently.

'True. But your friend would have done the same thing for you. What blame finds itself buried within your restless dreams? What pain of such magnitude must be eating your heart from the inside out? It will all disappear once you avenge Ronald Wesley's death.'

Hermione stayed silent.

'A courageous man like Mr. Weasley did not deserve to be killed in such a manhandled way. There was no honour in his death... An honour that even I would have provided him with.'

'_Honour_?' Pettigrew suddenly found his voice, forgetting himself within his drowning despair. 'That lump of _dung_? He was a side-kick for Harry Potter and nothing else! Believe me, I was his pet for years! He was shit! An empty place! I am happy to have killed him and would have done it again! Yes, I would have! That filthy blood-traitor!'

Thus, Peter Pettigrew chose his fate.

Anger unlike any other filled Hermione to the brim. White, burning rage pumped itself within her veins as she stared at the only true murderer in the room. The primal feeling stripped her body of all weakness, making her feel more alive than she had for these past few months. With life came power. The scorching energy that coursed through her system had to be released somehow. Either that or she would burn herself alive from within. However, there was no wand within her reach through which she would have been able to transform her magic. There was one thing left to do in order to save herself, and her anger knew what to do.

'Shut up! _Shut up_!'

The moment she opened her mouth, the magic found its way out. It rushed through her body in a pulsating wave of tidal proportions, unconsciously focusing at the ultimate target of her anger. Hermione's body trembled under the sheer intensity of that power, the pressure finally forcing a shriek out of her.

Her scream was quickly followed by another, but that one was made out of pure terror and did not belong to her.

Peter Pettigrew had no chance as the white light rushed at him, consuming his body to the core. The last thing Hermione ever saw of him was his silhouette surrounded in bright light.

When the radiance subsided, there was no trace of Wormtail.

Only a burned patch upon the heated stones showed that he had ever lain there.

Hermione would have fallen if a strong hand had not grabbed hold of her waist in a death grip. Her body still trembled with shock and power when she lifted her eyes and looked at her mortal enemy.

There was no horror in his eyes. The wizard above her had seen and committed too many crimes to be horrified by another death; he did not even flinch at the burning smell infusing the air now.

The scarlet gleam within his eyes, however, held something else that Hermione couldn't dare interpret.

'Magic of the Old Religion..._fascinating_,' murmured Voldemort, balancing his free hand a breath away from her face. Still not touching her heated skin, he passed it above her lips before moving to her neck. Upon reaching the vicinity of her chest he stopped abruptly. Freezing her with his gaze alone, he pressed his hand against her right bosom.

The young woman's breath caught sharply in her throat at the coldness she felt even through the leather of his gloves. She did not dare move as he determinedly cupped the heaviness of her breast, lifting it upwards until his hand lay right above her beating heart.

'I see the horror within your eyes, Hermione. The terrifying realisation of what you could do to another human wandlessly, with only your anger guiding the path of your magic. But there is no horror in your soul. My hand feels the regular beating of your heart, untouched by the course of your actions. It seems that your heart decided your fate well before your mind caught up with ultimate comprehension.'

Hermione had to take a shaking breath before she dared to open her mouth. She felt too sharply the weight of his hand upon her. Too sharply for her own comfort.

'What fate?'

She did not need to see to know that a smile had appeared within the blackness of that hood.

'It is not my duty to tell you of your fate. Let actions take their course...I will not dare to intervene with the higher cause.'

The sudden intensity of his eyes was the only warning Hermione had before Voldemort deliberately pressed his gloved thumb over where her nipple was. Almost against her will, Hermione's breath quickened as she felt her nub hardening. Detecting her reaction, the dark wizard rubbed the now visible peak through her dress. The stimulating touch and its coldness provoked the natural reaction from her body, and Hermione could do nothing to prevent it.

'Oh yesss. I have to say that it will be my pleasure to be the witness to your realisation of what fate has in store for you,' he rasped.

Without warning, Voldemort stepped away from her, which almost sprawled the weak-kneed Hermione upon the floor. She was finally able to detect the deathly silence of the chamber as every pair of eyes remained fixated on her. Whilst most of them wore deep frowns, she couldn't prevent herself from noticing the outright fearfulness that reflected upon some of their faces as they cautiously observed her every movement.

'Your fate has begun to unveil, Hermione,' said Voldemort, also observing the dark-cloaked figures of his servants in front of them.

Before she could open her mouth to question him further, the dark wizard commanded in a loud voice:

'Alecto, Amycus, escort Miss Granger back to her living quarters. Do not even attempt to do something foolish. I believe that after today's show, our guest has proven that she will succeed in killing you well before I get my hands on you.'

Giving him somewhat shaking bows, the two Death Eaters that most probably shared the same blood came to stand in front of her. It appeared that they had every intention of following their Lord's every word to the point and therefore did not plan on forcing her to walk against her will.

At that moment, she did not blame them.

Passing the parted crowd of Death Eaters, Hermione suddenly felt lighter than she had upon first entering the chamber. She did not really wish to know what had provoked such ease, but her heart gave her the right answer anyway. Murder... She felt somehow better and freer after having killed. Hermione shook her head and pushed the less than cheerful realisation from her mind. For the time being.

She walked by a worried looking Antonin Dolohov and a less-than-happy-looking Blaise Zabini. But what almost stopped her in her tracks was the sight of her former Potions Professor. The calculating look he coated her with would not have shocked her if she had not drawn nearer to him. The second she came level with him, Snape inclined his head slightly towards her. Hermione would have missed the gesture if she had not been looking at him as intently as she was.

One wouldn't have dared to call it a bow, but the action itself looked almost...respectful.

Whatever place she held in Voldemort's schemes, Severus Snape, in some unexplainable way, must have already foreseen her upcoming role in them.

A role that she herself did not know anything about.

_Yet._

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><p><strong>Hmm... I would love to hear what you thought of <em>that<em>... muahahaha ;)**_  
><em>


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: As it was promised, I give you the third chapter of the story! This particular piece gives you a little further background into the workings of Hermione's and Voldemort's mind (though the latter is so obscure, it will raise quite a few more questions, I'm sure... muahahaha). What is more, there's a special guest star appearance here! I particularly enjoyed writing him... and you shall see why very soon *wink wink, nudge nudge***

**I thank everyone who took their time to review this story! All answers to your reviews so far can be found at the end of this page ;)**

**Enjoy! XD**

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><p><em><strong>DISCLAIMER: <strong>_ _The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

After that decisive incident, Hermione Granger's life took a sharp turn towards the unknown.

As the time finally ceased to blend together, the young woman began to distinguish days from nights once again. Meals continued to magically appear within her sleeping chambers three times a day, as regular as clockwork. Her first taste of the provided dinner revealed it to be roasted lamb, the deliciousness of which was beyond any possible words or doubt. She wolfed down everything to the last morsel, savouring the lingering texture of succulent meat with a confidence that she had never tasted anything like it before.

The rest of her light-filled days were spent at her bureau, writing and drawing aimlessly upon parchment after parchment. It was on the second day that she had located the blank papers and quills upon the wooden surface of the writing table. Grabbing the chance to part with her consuming thoughts, even for an insignificant period of time, she snatched the offering and had not parted with it since.

But then came the nights and, with them, the nightmares of twisted facts.

On the sixth morning, she awoke to discover a book lying on the table's surface.

Upon the seventh day, her consciousness took its first step toward changing its perception of reality.

* * *

><p>Without warning, the young witch's eyelids snapped open.<p>

Panting, Hermione continued to stare unseeingly at the carved ceiling above her. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she was very much aware of her sopping-wet face and the tears that still lingered there. Despite herself, she briefly closed her bloodshot eyes and began to replay the dream over and over again within the confines of her exhausted mind.

Scattered remains of the school she had come to treat as a second home...eternal fields of destruction and grass over the familiar lands of her childhood memories...her loved ones...whispered accusations...Harry...Ron.

Breathing heavily, the witch once again opened her eyes and frowned. Since the night of her capture, her dreams had consisted of the same nightmare that constantly replayed itself, worsening with every passing day of her continuing existence. Guilt had morphed itself into her personal brand of plague that ate its way through her reasoning until barely anything of it remained intact. However, it created a trail of thinking that she had learned to understand and treat as the righteous one.

But this time around, her night's scenario had...shifted.

Harry and Ron remained silent.

Not one word of accusation.

Nothing.

There must have been significance behind the abrupt change...a fundamental reason for the halt of the justifiable accusations. Hermione Granger of old would have instantly latched onto possible theories, exploring the deep corners of her mind for possible clues and probabilities.

But that eager girl no longer existed. As it was, she felt no inclination to explore her consciousness' pitiful pits in order to discover the basis for her hallucinations. There was nothing philosophical in the nature of fantasy realms. All she was ready to perceive was that it was the calmest night of all the restless ones. And may her logic be damned if she couldn't bring herself to be thankful for that.

Hermione uttered a faint groan as she finally lifted her perspiring body from the tangled bed sheets. Her squinting eyes could just distinguish a hint of sunlight through the wooden panels of the window. However, she could neither tell nor care what time of day it really was. Instead, the witch stood up rather shakily from her four-poster bed and padded her way to the bathroom, candle flames flickering in her wake. With her mind firmly fixed upon her sole desire for a much-needed shower, the witch absentmindedly hooked her fingers around the edge of her silk nightgown and let it slide towards the floor.

She did not have the vaguest idea of how much time she spent standing naked under the blissful sprays of hot water. The seemingly timeless period within the dungeons created a water-worshipping element in her. Even now, leaning against the dark marble wall of the shower, the witch had a look of utter bliss upon her face. Eyes closed, she basked in the sensation of the pure liquid cascading over her face, craned neck and down the rest of her body.

Later on, with her hair made up of heavy wet curls, Hermione leaned her arms over the sink. After a moment's hesitation, she lifted her head and looked directly into the face of her reflection.

Though that was one of her unwritten daily rituals, she genuinely did not know what she sought in it. Wasn't one supposed to perceive the aftermath of agonizing months, physically marked by his or her struggles? However, that was not what she saw staring back at her. Her skin was as ivory as it had ever been, her body nourishing itself back to its femininity with every passing day. At first glance, she would have been easily mistaken for any carefree twenty-one-year-old the world had to offer.

That is, before one chanced to look into her eyes.

The grimness within them would have taken the breath away from an individual decades older then her.

Unable to suppress a shaking sigh, Hermione lowered her eyelids and turned away from the mirror.

Opening the door wide, she exited the bathroom in a cloud of hot vapor. Slowly making her way towards her dresser on the other side of the room, she did not even bother to look around herself.

It was only when she reached the middle of the chamber that her peripheral vision registered an inferior presence.

Hermione nearly choked on her gasp as she came to an abrupt halt. For seven days she had lived in her own little world, undisturbed by anyone from outside her sanctuary. She would have been a fool, however, to assume that she would remain alone forever. With her heart hammering a rabid beat, the only thing the young witch could discern at first was a patch of blackness. It took a number of moments for her to fully realize who sat mere feet away from her.

Languidly reclining upon her bed was none other than Severus Snape.

'You were in there for so long that I began to suspect you of attempting to drown yourself,' drawled her former professor in his silky voice. In his hands he held her discarded blood-red nightgown, stroking it distractedly with his long, pale fingers.

The dark wizard before her remained the same as she remembered him through all of her student years. Tall and lean, he half-lay upon the covers of the bed as if he had no other care in the world. Only his usual black teaching robes were absent. They had been replaced by the attire of a marked Death Eater, his midnight cloak sprayed wide enough to reveal his dark breeches and knee-high polished boots. Obsidian eyes watched her unblinkingly from between black shoulder-length locks. With the exception of the paleness of his features, everything about him appeared to have been made out of darkness itself.

The Devil's minion had decided to pay her a visit, and she had no knowledge whatsoever of his intentions.

Reluctant to move a single muscle, Hermione continued to stare cautiously at the man. But even as her vigilance held her body immobilized, her mind refused to succumb to the same predicament. Unable to find solace in physical protest, she nonetheless unleashed her unwillingness to fall to the fear that was undoubtedly expected of her.

'Tried that five days ago. As you see, the attempt proved to be quite futile,' she said.

The answering retort came in a form of a low, rumbling chuckle. Remaining stock still, the young woman absentmindedly wondered what it was that made her so absolutely hilarious in the eyes of the most menacing wizards of her time.

'I see that Malfoy's accusations were well founded. You are as untamable as a lioness. A streak that he did not succeed in destroying.' Snape's eyes made an in-depth route over her body before focusing their burning gaze back on her face. 'Wonderful.'

It would have seemed impossible, but Hermione felt herself stiffen even further under his perusal. She recognized that look in a man's eyes. A searing lust that brought pain so unbearable that even the distant reminder of Malfoy's actions caused an uncontrollable shudder to seize her. She convulsively clutched the black towel tighter around herself, the only garment that shielded her naked body from the wizard's intense scrutiny.

'Do not fear me, girl. I assure you that I will not cause you any intentional harm,' said Snape in a low voice, his obsidian eyes fixed firmly upon hers.

All of a sudden she found herself getting exasperated. Before she knew what she was doing, she opened her mouth without being aware of what she was about to say in the first place.

'You have always had a clever way with words, Professor. But a pledge is a tricky notion, isn't it? Once a person becomes a traitor, the stain of their betrayal sticks with them forevermore.'

The wizard moved so fast he was but a dark blur in Hermione's eyes. In a blink of time she found him looming above her. Before she could draw her next breath, his pale hand shot out and wrapped itself around her neck. Clutching the hand squeezing her windpipe in both of hers, her anxious eyes started to water from the applied pressure. Her captor, meanwhile, brought his face dangerously close so that his next words were hissed right into her face.

'How _dare_ you lecture me about betrayal! You do not know the first _thing_ about the meaning of that word! Before you actually start comprehending the reality of the world around you, heed my words and keep your smart mouth _shut_.'

Never had she seen such potency of outrage in the man in front of her. His upper lip was pulled back from his teeth, and his eyes stared at her with such savagery that they caused the witch to shudder further in his suffocating grasp.

Eventually, black dots started to dance in front of her vision as the last remnants of breath began to leave her. However, before she succumbed to unconsciousness, the hand squeezing the life out of her retracted as if burned. Gasping, Hermione staggered back on her shaking feet until her back collided with a wooden surface. Reclining her quivering body against the bedpost, the traumatized young woman continued to watch the man with heightened alertness.

Snape remained standing where he was, his fingers lightly massaging his temples and his forehead slightly furrowed. As if sensing her scrutiny, he snapped his head up and looked straight into her eyes. For a moment, Hermione could have sworn she saw a flash of attentiveness within their dark depths before his countenance became blank once more.

'Indeed, do take note of my warning, Hermione. Words possess an unpredictable effect on people. It would be a pity if you were to get your head bashed in accidentally before you even gain your new status.'

Before Hermione could start questioning him, the wizard slowly began to walk towards her. With his every silent step, she unconsciously pressed herself closer against the bedpost. When a mere foot separated her body from his, the young witch wished momentarily to fuse with the wooden frame behind her. Instead, she wrapped her hands securely around it and willed her heart to cease its nagging hammering.

The Death Eater halted only when the hem of his cloak brushed against the tips of her toes. In stubborn contradiction to her heavy breathing, the young woman raised her chin and met the man's eyes unflinchingly. With him standing as close as he was now, unmoving, it was impossible to ignore the difference in their heights. At best, she barely reached his shoulder, and his black attire simply amplified his dominating presence. The two of them continued to scrutinize each other from their respective positions, neither of them seemingly willing to back down first.

All of a sudden, Hermione's face contorted with dawning horror. The towel, which had miraculously survived her previous ordeal, was now sliding agonizingly slowly down her sleek body. Her hands convulsed in indecision of what to do. Detaching herself from the post would surely distract her concentration. Thinking fervently, she nonetheless continued to stare defiantly back at the dark wizard. However, as she watched, Snape's own eyes flicked towards the slowly shifting towel. Snapping it back up, the man cocked his eyebrow, his black gaze mocking.

One could have interpreted it as a challenge.

And she would curse herself before she let the likes of him succeed even in something so frivolous as a glaring match. She was no coward.

Locking her arms more securely around the bedpost behind her, the young woman preyed to whoever would listen that her body pressure would be enough to halt the movement of the thick cloth. However, it appeared that no one was willing to hear her pleas, for in the next second she felt only too well how the soft fabric began to unwrap itself from around her.

Her brown orbs were still determinedly fixed upon Snape, but it was he who no longer looked into hers. His expressionless obsidian eyes surveyed the towel as it first slid down her chest, revealing her upper right breast to his gaze. Triggered by her rapid breathing, the material slid further and bared a rosy nipple that peaked to attention the instant the cool air of the room hit it. Closing her eyes in silent mortification, Hermione could sense how the bloody towel fell farther and uncovered her soft stomach, as well as the whole right side of her body.

Upon hearing nothing but the unnatural stillness of the room, she hazarded to crack one of her eyes open. As it was, Professor Snape did not attempt to make a single movement towards her. He was as still as a marble statue, only his glittering eyes caressing the naked contours of her flesh. Even though his features were as harsh as ever, his escalated breathing clearly betrayed the truth of his physical state.

'Such flawless skin. The fullness of your breasts... the apex of your thighs... simply divine,' he whispered huskily and then smirked as he finally took in her flushed condition.

'I've told you already; you have nothing to be afraid of. I do not obtain satisfaction from forcing the unwilling. It's so much more pleasurable when your partner reacts to your touch, screams out your name with every forceful stroke... isn't it?'

Whatever scheme Snape's treacherous mind had devised, it appeared to be coming to fruition. Her anxiety levels lowering with every calming breath, Hermione was becoming increasingly aware of the male scent surrounding her. The silky drawl of the hypnotizing voice only managed to escalate the incomprehensible sensation building within her. The quiver that overtook her heated body next wasn't a result of any variety of fear but a product of something else that the young witch wasn't ready to acknowledge.

'I wouldn't know the answer to that, would I?' she managed to grind out, cursing her deceitful body.

Snape brought his face closer to hers, leaning forward until he was practically pressing her against the bedpost, yet his body not once touched hers. Only his lips, when he spoke next, sensually brushed her ear with his every whispered word.

'There will come a time, Hermione, when you will not just forget the brutality of your first copulation but will come to welcome a man between your thighs. You will master the satisfaction of being fully stuffed with a cock... your cunt begging for it with wet anticipation. Your hoarse moans will consist of only the most brutal want, and you will beg to be pounded to the very inch of your life. Mark my words, witch.'

With her eyes shut as tightly as she could muster, the young woman in question felt his cruel mouth shift from her ear. Before she had a chance to draw a staggering breath of relief, she sensed him right in front of her. When he spoke next, the wizard's lips brushed lightly against hers, and she involuntary inhaled the minty breath out of his mouth and into her own.

'The Dark Lord graciously invites you to dine with him this evening. An escort shall collect you at nine p.m. Be ready by then.'

And then his presence was gone, the sound of a shutting door soon following.

He left in his wake a shuddering and confused Hermione Granger, who couldn't help but be assured of one factor at that moment in time. It seemed that her life had not deemed it necessary to simply take an unpredictable turn towards the unknown. The stretching path before her was full of cryptic dangers of which she didn't have a grasp.

What was more, if the clenching of her inner muscles was anything to go by, she had just found herself in a hazard that was well over her pitiful head.

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><p>The cracking of burning logs within a stone-carved fireplace was the sole sound penetrating the stillness of the surrounding chamber. However, even that sound appeared to have been muted, seemingly unwilling to disturb the figure sitting in the depths of a grand armchair. Serving as the only source of light, the fire cast an eerie play of shadows upon the wizard's cloak-covered body. Staring unseeingly into those blazing, yet cool flames, the figure's only movement was the idle play of his gloved fingers as they absentmindedly rolled a chain between thumb and forefinger.<p>

The room's wooden door opened soundlessly as another dark-cloaked figure slipped inside.

Lord Voldemort had no intention of turning his gaze away from the mesmerizing dance of the fire just yet, for he already knew who was standing behind him. Amongst all his countless followers, only one had permission, and the backbone, to enter the Dark Lord's study without so much as a knock.

Placing his elbow upon the arm of the plush chair, the dark wizard finally switched his attention from the blaze in front of him and glanced at the object hanging from the seemingly delicate chain in his hand. By lifting it higher, the firelight managed to cast its glow upon the golden locket, a dazzling glint of the only true colour within the chamber.

'Don't you find it fascinating, Severus, that such an insignificant object as this determined the outcome of a war?' he mused out load, his voice low.

'Indeed, my Lord,' was the confirmation behind him.

For a few prolonged moments, Voldemort continued to scrutinize the object in his hand before closing his fist firmly around it. Rising up, the dark wizard placed the chain unhurriedly around his neck before securing the locket itself carefully underneath the confinement of his cloak. That done, he rounded on the only other occupant of the room.

'Am I to assume that your mission was a success?'

'Yes, my liege,' Snape drawled out, inclining his head respectfully. 'Everything went as you designed it. If I may be so bold as to say that any lingering doubts I might have harboured before have been ultimately put to rest. An ability of such magnitude is practically... unnerving. And dangerous. For her.'

'That shall not come to pass, my servant. It will not be long now until the time arrives... and when it does, none shall dare to cross the line.'

'There is one that might be foolish enough, my Lord. Lucius Malfoy.'

A hiss of outrage escaped Voldemort's lips at the mere notion of what his servant was implying. The swirling wrath within his soul desperately clawed against the confinement of his control, seeking to break out through any means possible. However, he quickly suppressed the impulse to punish his most loyal Death Eater. It wasn't a time for torture but a possibility of obtaining information. Severus Snape was too much of a formidable spy and a crucial figure in his plans to be subjected to senseless torture.

'_Continue_,' he ordered tensely instead.

'Malfoy has spent too long in her company. He was rather unstable to begin with, but the prolonged exposure has made him virtually unhinged. The unfortunate... incident is proof enough. His subconscious is aware that the blame for his condition lies with her, even though he might now know the reason behind it. I have been meaning to tell you that I have caught him in the corridor of her chambers two times already. If he gets his hands on her one more time, my Lord, it shall be her death.'

It was right then that Voldemort nearly lost his restraint.

As his body stiffened with suppressed outrage, he felt the miniature waves of power beginning to escape his magical ward. He succumbed to his base emotions so rarely that it was easy to forget that he was in a constant state of concentration, holding his wild energy back from the rest of the world. However, the Dark Lord's anger rose high enough for it to start escaping through the seams. The dark wizard had to literally bare his teeth in order to prevent his barriers from slipping off completely.

When the pulsing waves collided with his body, Snape gave a violent shudder but managed to bow in meek surrender. His ability to sense how one should behave in various situations in the Dark Lord's presence was one of the many reasons why he had managed to climb to a place of great power within the Inner Circle.

It took Voldemort a significant amount of time to mend his personal wards back to their pristine condition. Only when he was confident of his control did he speak again.

'I want you to spread my command, Severus. I wish every Death Eater in my service, whatever rank, to be present within the Shadow Chamber at midnight. Every one. A failure to appear will result in swift punishment performed personally by me.'

With damnable emotions still flowing in his veins, Voldemort whirled back towards the fireplace, the cloak swirling in his wake.

'I believe we have a revel to prepare for,' he hissed.

A momentary silence followed his words before Snape enquired graciously, 'By your leave, Master...'

Raising his gloved hand in sharp dismissal, Voldemort waited until he heard the soft sound of the closing door before he allowed himself to take a deep breath in order to reinstate the last metaphysical barricade around himself. Only when he was secure in the knowledge that all the 'leakage' had been taken care of did he lift both of his hands towards his head. Agonizingly slowly, the wizard took hold of the black cloth and lowered his hood.

Without tearing his crimson gaze away from the fire, he gave an inward, knowing smirk.

The upcoming revel was going to be like no other that any Death Eater had ever had the privilege to attend.

And that was simply the second phase of his plans.

Feeling his facial muscles stretching, the dark wizard began to softly chuckle to himself. Soon enough, those chuckles transformed into full-blown laughter as the Dark Lord tilted his head backward and let the overwhelming emotion consume him. For the time being, at least.

The dying fire became the only witness to a laughter that held genuine mirth for the first time in decades.

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><p>With indecision in her eyes, Hermione observed herself rather critically in the full-size mirror in front of her. Possessing no clothes or wand of her own, she had no other choice but to wear whatever was provided for her. However, what had been so <em>graciously<em> offered was a ten-foot-tall wardrobe consisting solely of ballroom dresses. She did not have anything against that type of clothing, but her particular selection would have given pause to any self-respecting woman.

Indeed, the bodice of every dress was so low that once upon a time she would have surely been flung into a permanent state of blushing unconsciousness.

The young woman must have been digging through the dresser contents for over an hour, cursing whatever the world stood upon, until she finally found what looked to be relatively modest. Even though the garment was in a loathsome green colour, the cut in front appeared to be harmless enough.

Further inspection proved just how far from truth she really was.

The moment Hermione pulled the dress over her head she knew that something was amiss. The same modest cut that had first caught her attention now appeared to be so low that her ample breasts were in serious danger of spilling out from the front. Changing was practically pointless, and she had a nagging feeling that whatever dress she chose would have changed itself to whatever it thought was suitable... in that case, the deeper the cleavage, the better.

Remaining stock-still before her reflection, the witch almost jumped out of her skin when there was a sudden knock on her door.

'Come in!' she called out automatically and then cringed at her audacity.

True to her word, two Death Eaters entered her room and placed themselves on either side of the door. Both wizards eyed her somewhat cautiously for a few silent moments before the bulkiest of them elected to speak.

'We are to escort you to the Dark Lord. Move along.'

Steeling her resolve for the inevitable, the witch lifted her chin and, without sparing either Death Eater so much as a glance, floated through the open door into the dim corridor beyond.

The two imbeciles gathered their wits quickly enough, and soon enough, she found herself flanked by one man behind her, with the other leading the way in front of her.

Nevertheless, with every echo of their steps, Hermione felt her heart beginning to hammer faster within her constricted chest. She was becoming acutely aware of the actual nature of her upcoming destination, with nowhere near a realization of what Lord Voldemort wanted with her. Escorted by Death Eaters in her emerald gown, the young woman had an inkling that soon, very soon, nothing would ever be as it had been before.

And may Merlin help her.

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><p><strong>Review Replies:<strong>

**As mad as one can get**: The fact that you have described my story as "amazing" just put you onto my "To Love at All Costs" list! And I am delighted to have managed to "hook" you (oh yes, fishing is a little hobby of mine as well! hehe) ))) Thank you for such lovely two reviews! x

**Trippy Hippie**: I hope the speed of my update so far hasn't disappointed you ;) Hehe, I think I know what you mean in consideration of "Nagini's playful offspring"... It would be quite an unhonourable death for a Malfoy, wouldn't it? *snickers* And the fact that Voldemort decided to taunt him with that instead of an Avada is quite hilarious in itself ))) Thanks for your review, it's greatly appreciated! :D

**Mercyy**: Thank you, darling ;) I hope you have enjoyed this chapter as much as you have expected to! x

**ilovetwilight2010**: A lovely review, there's no doubt about that ;) Thank you for taking your time to review, I greatly appreciate it! Enjoy the rest ;)

**sweet-tang-honney**: Thank you so much (for both of your reviews, of course!)! Would love to know your opinion on the latest chapter as well! :))) x

**Priscina Alice Malfoy**: Thank you very much, especially for the "cool" part *grins happily* )))

**Cherry-Hime-chan**: Oh yes, have no fears! This story will definitely be continued! I may take sometimes a month or more to create a chapter that is closest to perfection as I can possibly get it, but I am seeing this baby of mine until the end! *shakes an enthusiastic fist in the air* Lol... thanks for your review, hun! x

**Apsaras Yoma**: I am here to please, of course )))... and hope that you have liked everything so far! Thank you! :D

**Iria**: No need to apologize, darling! The sole fact that you are taking so much time in translating this story really means a lot to me! *puffs up in pride* :) I am not sure about Voldemort being more cruel though... and he is no fluffy chick to begin with! But I do promise you that you will see his evil side quite a few times here, have no fear *evil cackle* Thank you for reviewing and I hope you are enjoying this! x

**Nameless Grace**: Ohhh yes, I know _exactly_ what you mean on the subject of "obsession/possession" category! It fits the characteristic behaviour and imagery of Lord Voldemort so much that it's practically his second name... *sighs dreamily* You are giving me so many compliments over here that I am dangerously close to blushing now, truly! *fans herself* :) And I hope you have not waited too long for the update and enjoyed it as much as the two previous chapters... more to come soon, I promise! And an extra thank you to you for giving two reviews in a row! I won't be forgetting you in the near future, now! xxx

**Nicxy**: It's great to know that I have managed to intrigue you so! Yes, Hermione does have a special power... and all will be revealed soon (but not too soon... I do so love the suspence! *snickers*) Thank you for your review, it's greatly appreciated! :)

**Alice**: I thank you very, very much for such a heartfelt compliment and review! Hope you have enjoyed the update you've been waiting for! ;)

**liidg**: Thank you ) And I hope I won't lose that interest of yours any time soon, either! Hehe x

**XellamyBB**: Bwaahahahaa... yep, that's me! The person, so to speak :))) Well, it is an honour to meet you as well, then! And to finally receive your review, so to speak *grins widely* Also, you would be happy to know that I am not (as of yet!) turning psychopathic... but I cannot with a clear conscious state that Voldemort doesn't rub off me in the process of my writing *eyes flash red for a millisecond* Hmm... well... moving on then! *whistles innocently* And concerning the updates, you will also be delighted to know (I hope! *gives an evil eyes*) that I am presently working on chapter 5, which is moving on slowly but surely forward! I do have an obsession with detail when it concerns my writing and I won't rest until I have everything to perfection (or as close as I can get it!). Ah, thank you for such a lovely, heartfelt review of yours! I am most certainly waiting forward to hearing from you in the near future! *wink, wink*! x

**Anonymous**: Thank you very much! :))

**know-it-all**: Such an amazing review, thank you! Ah yes, Hermione's power is linked very close to Voldemort's plans for her... and in some way, it's nothing like the majority of readers are expecting it *bwahaahaha* :)))) x

**nameless**: Thanks a lot! I hope the last chapter was to your liking as well ;) x

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><p><strong>And for those of you that haven't reviewed yet or just started reading this story, I urge you to give me cookies and keep feeding my muse, so to speak! *rubs hands in anticipation* Thank you in advance!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: And here's the highly (I can hope!) anticipated Chapter 4! **

**WARNING: Some of you might want to keep a couple of tissues on hand... you will know what I am talking about very soon!**

**As always, my highest praise go to my lovely and irreplaceable beta: Liongirl11 and all those that took their time to review! All the answers could be found at the end of this page.**

**Have an exhilirating read, everyone!**

**Ms Velvela XD**

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

There were in all probability thousands – _tens_ of thousands of door handles in both the Muggle and wizarding world of the exact same shape and golden colour. No elaborate design to attract a fascinated eye. In fact, the doors themselves were neither too ornate nor remarkable enough to be worthy of any particular attention either.

And yet, there she stood, transfixed. With a thudding heart, she remained perfectly still, eyes unblinking, as she stared at the doorway in front of her with a morbid mix of foreboding and fascination.

Engulfed in waves of conflicting emotions, Hermione barely paid any heed to the looming presence of the surrounding Death Eaters. Her escorts from earlier remained positioned firmly behind her, the prickling sensation at the base of her spine a constant reminder of their silent presence. The rational side of her consciousness did not permit her to forget about the other two black-cloaked wizards at the edge of her vision either, stationed as they were rigidly on either side of the double doors.

Nevertheless, it was exactly those cursed doors that pulled at the young witch's attention the most. So much, in fact, that the lethal men around her came across as being nothing but rather infuriating company she was forced to keep. The target of her obsession would have certainly come across as ridiculous in any other place or time. However, no such analysis managed to come to mind now as she gazed at the object in front of her.

Sanity dictated that it was nothing but a barrier at the entrance to a room. Nothing more, nothing less. Once upon a time, that statement would have gone unquestioned. Her mind and eyes, however, depicted something else entirely. At that moment in time, other synonyms jumped to the front of her mind.

So there she stood, staring at the portal that hid unimaginable possibilities of chasms beyond. She had once read, no longer remembering where and when – it seemed to be so long ago – that there was no greater mystery then the route towards the unknown. What she did clearly remember was that she had never fully reconciled with one definite opinion about that statement. Therefore, she now found herself facing an impasse... Dread held her heart shackled just as it made her blood pump faster. And yet, her imagination reeled for an altogether other reason; the aspect of uncovering the truth... Unveiling the reason why she was still permitted to breath and eat... To live. The possibility of finally finding out where she stood in the scheme of things was akin to turning the theory of the unknown on its axis.

And Hermione Granger had never before possessed such a desire for knowledge as she did now.

Her back straightening in silent resolve, the gentle curve of her bare shoulders equally drew back in solid determination. And not a moment too late.

Guided by an unseen power, the double doors drew open in eerie silence, the invitation to proceed unmistakable. All four Death Eaters remained stationed where they were, their combined tension rolling off them in palpable waves. Ignoring them, she nonetheless was unable to prevent an inner shiver of disgust. Fear was a wise sentiment that was meant to be kept to oneself, never permitted to be taken advantage of. But there they stood, four Death Eaters, the most feared elite of the wizarding world – filled with such a marrow-deep terror that it virtually had them on the brink of soiling themselves.

_Pathetic._

With a hint of a grimace still lingering across her features, Hermione took a soothing breath and stepped into the room beyond.

At once, Death Eaters no longer occupied her thoughts.

However, it wasn't the new surrounding area that managed to steal her attention so swiftly and completely. In fact, practically every detail of the grand chamber managed to evade her. She had but a sketchy understanding of the wooden interior, the ancient smell of mahogany clinging to every corner of its perimetre. The massive table in the middle of the floor, undoubtedly the most prominent feature of all, was given but a scant glance. The same could be said about the bountiful selection of foods splayed upon its gleaming surface that registered as no more than a varied collection of colours in Hermione's perception.

There was but one sole target that commanded every ounce of her awareness.

Seated at the head of the table, his features in continual blackness, was none other than Lord Voldemort himself. Her dinner host for the evening.

The imposing presence of his cloaked figure drew her attention before she even became conscious of it in the first place. Hermione scarcely paid attention to the third person occupying the room, sitting silently at Voldemort's right-hand side. Though taking note of it, she did not judge the newfound company to be of any great importance yet.

It was just as she stood there, staring upon the darkest wizard of all, that the stillness overtook her fervent mind once more. Finding herself once again in full reign of her emotions, Hermione unconsciously allowed her head to tilt up in an act of silent defiance.

'Good evening, Miss Granger.'

Hermione suppressed an involuntary shiver as the voice washed effortlessly over her. Seven days she had gone without hearing it, and its cold-pitch timbre managed to raise every fine hair it encountered on its path along her exposed skin.

'Do take a seat,' he intoned, indicating the only other available chair at the table to his left. 'I have invited you to dine, and that's precisely what you shall do. Feel free to..._indulge_ yourself.'

Eyes wary, Hermione swayed slightly once in indecision. Rapidly weighing all available options, it quickly became apparent that she had no other choice but to comply with the request. Feeling more or less like herself since leaving her chambers, she steeled herself once more for a good measure and took her place at the table as cautiously as possible.

With her back rigidly straight and eyes averted solely to the food in front of her, Hermione uselessly attempted to block out the existence of the wizard beside her. Whilst she had no difficulty in fully disregarding whoever sat on the opposite side of the table from her, the same could not be said about Voldemort. An impossible task by itself. He was like a mass of condensed, dark vapor, a caricature of a storm cloud at the edge of her peripheral vision, silent and unpredictable. It was as if she could see but not feel him, she dimly realised.

'Are the rooms to your liking?'

Hermione swallowed reflexively though her mouth was devoid of any beverage or food. 'Yes.'

'What are you reading now?' was his next question, his voice bland in its expressionlessness.

'A book.'

There was a short pause, during which his cloaked outline remained motionless, his hands upon the padded armrests perfectly still. And though she would not dare to look directly at him, she knew that he observed her. Studied. Contemplated.

'How many subjects did you to take at Hogwarts?'

And thus the mundane inquiry proceeded, Hermione's answers remaining as short and clipped as possible, giving nothing of importance away. Continuing to chew attentively, she resolved to remain indifferent. To keep her emotions in check. Nonetheless, soon enough, the sheer simplicity and uselessness of the questions began to steadily grate on her nerves. Upon what might have been the twentieth question of the evening, she was no longer able to relish the taste of olive bread upon her tongue.

If there was truly anything she absolutely abhorred in this world, it was to be treated like a fool, a mindless female who couldn't possibly have anything of importance to say. Her pride in her intelligence and capabilities had always been far too strong to allow her to suffer through such degrading treatment. Somewhere back in her mind she was aware of being blatantly manipulated... but she was almost too far gone to avoid that bait. It just served as a proverbial fuel to her rising ire.

Grinding her teeth, Hermione simultaneously allowed the nails of her left hand to dig painfully into her palm, the slight pain serving as a means of desperate distraction. She had to find out the truth behind her survival. Rage held no possible capability of bringing her the answer she needed. Pain and subsequent punishment, more like it.

However, before she had the chance to fully collect herself, Voldemort spoke up once more, his voice a flowing hiss.

'And what about your diversions? Anything I have not yet been made aware of, 'Cissa?'

The very essence of time seemed to halt in its path. Frozen as she was, Hermione momentarily lost all capability of moving. All she could do was sit still and hold her breath. Unbeknownst to her, the fingers of her hand squeezed further into her skin until they finally managed to draw blood.

'No, My Lord.'

The soft-spoken words finally caused Hermione to whip her head up, her eyes wide in distress as she found herself staring at the one person she would have least expected.

_Narcissa Malfoy_.

Hermione could have counted on one hand the total number of times she had seen the older witch up close and personal. And yet, all things considered, she was certain that the woman sitting in front of her now was not the same person she had had the chance to encounter.

At first cursory glance, the average ignorant individual would have assumed Narcissa Malfoy held the same obnoxious bearing all high-class purebloods tended to possess. Her straight, blonde hair was pulled back into an elaborate coiffeur that would have never been able to be styled single-handedly. The cut of her dress-robes – most certainly dictated by the latest wizarding couture – framed the unblemished skin of her cleavage exquisitely. She should have been the image of ice-cold perfection... An ideal depiction of disdain towards anything inferior and unworthy.

However, that reality no longer existed. At least, not in such simple terms.

What Hermione saw before her was a woman encompassed in an emanation of hopelessness. While physical imperfection had the possibility of being masked by an array of glamour spells and potions, nothing could ever be done to disguise the discolouration of the soul. No such enchantments existed. For all it was worth, the older witch's beauty was an alluring illusion hiding the true, gaunt features of the woman beyond it. And even though her eyes never lifted, either towards Voldemort or herself, Hermione already knew of the demons residing within them.

Once upon a time, in a past not so long ago, Narcissa Malfoy née Black might have truly been as vain as her namesake. Looking upon her now, however, no trace of that infamous pride could be detected. Self-love had been stripped away from her in one painful, merciless move. Did that mean that her road no longer lead towards the same path of death as it had Narcissus? That, Hermione did not know. Perhaps it was just a shortcut.

Hermione would have genuinely been stumped at how long she sat there, staring at the woman in front of her. The elegant witch became the sole point of her concentration to the point where she was on the verge of forgetting where and with whom she was currently visiting. Nothing mattered beyond the essence of watching her, feeling all that pain and anguish pumping vividly within her veins.

Entranced as she was, Hermione did not pay attention to the appearance of a Death Eater who silently entered the chamber. The full-garbed servant of the Dark hastily bent on one knee upon reaching his Lord before whispering something to his master.

'Miss Granger.'

Upon hearing her name, the witch in question unintentionally jerked. Without her having noticed him doing so, Voldemort was already on his feet, his cloaked form overshadowing her body.

'To my displeasure, I find myself obliged to cut my dinner short with you this evening. But do enjoy the rest of your meal. I shall be seeing both you and dear 'Cissa later on tonight,' he stated with deceptive amiability, his hooded head not once shifting from her direction.

Fortunately, either not expecting or uncaring of whatever comeback she might have made, the dark wizard smoothly whirled around in a pool of dark robes and departed from the chamber with no further words.

The silence within the room reigned, becoming more impenetrable than ever before. Unaccountable minutes passed by, and Hermione once again – inadvertently – found her gaze being pulled towards the only other presence with her at the massive table. The other woman, however, seemed oblivious to anything else around her. The flickering flames from the silver candelabra just barely managed to extend their meager glow towards the older witch to make her hair seem to shine in its golden perfection and her glowing skin to highlight the aristocratic lines of her face. It was a beautiful sight... A beautiful illusion.

And then, Hermione broke the engulfing silence. Words formed upon her tongue without her being aware of their intention to fall from her lips in the first place.

'I'm sorry.'

The strangled words provoked the woman's eyes to finally tilt upwards. For an instant, Hermione appeared to have lost the ability to breathe. The bone structure might have been different. The colouring was off. However, all that was but a mere triviality.

For, despite appearances and purposes, she was staring at the same image she scrutinized daily in the privacy of her bathroom.

Powerless to look away, Hermione continued to stare, just as the unbearable grief filled her to the point of pain. It tore at her insides, accelerating the beating of her heart until she no longer remembered the meaning of peace. Just as the sensations were threatening to overwhelm her sanity, she became aware of something else: a compulsion – so deep and yearning it was that she found it pointless to fight against it.

'I'm sorry for your pain,' she rasped, her voice stumbling upon uneven tones. 'For your sorrow. Anger. I'm sorry that you weren't granted the chance to stop the inevitable when it mattered most. I'm sorry that the life you chose didn't lead you where you envisioned it would go. I'm sorry that you watched your loved one dying... and for the fact that you would have done anything to be in his place instead.'

The echo of the last words hung unnaturally long in the hushed room. Surrounded once again in silence, Hermione's mind whirled with a diversity of emotions of which confusion and relief were the most prominent ones. As soon as she had stopped talking, what felt like a great weight had suddenly been lifted from her consciousness. Breathing more easily now, she was nonetheless reeling on the inside from what had just occurred. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

All the while, Narcissa Malfoy's eyes never once strayed away from hers. Hermione managed to detect every flicker of emotion as clearly as if it was written across parchment. Where once she had seen only dried-out despair, the blue depths now displayed confusion and relief, as well as a myriad of other feelings in quick succession, chief among them, shock.

At long last, the older witch managed to tear her gaze away, an action which appeared to pain her on its own. The knuckles upon her elegant hand stood out stark-white against her skin as her grasp upon the wine goblet subconsciously tightened.

'No mother should live to witness the death of her child... Especially by the hand of the very man who fathered him,' she said at last, her voice a near whisper.

There were no tears. The time for them had long come and gone. And yet, with that palpable sense of sadness came a shadow of acceptance. Where it appeared from was another question altogether.

With the silence descending once again, Hermione was at a loss to think of what to do. Speaking was out of the question, eating was not much of an option either. In her present state, she had the surreal assurance that if any beverage or food chanced to touch her tongue now, all would turn to ash. The possibility of simply leaving did not even cross her mind.

Therefore, when a Death Eater slipped into the room some half- an- hour later, Hermione experienced a perverse sense of relief.

'The Dark Lord wishes the two of you to join him in the Shadow Chamber. Please proceed Madame Malfoy... Mudblood.'

Turning a deaf ear upon her moniker, Hermione found herself more preoccupied by the response of the blond witch, who noticeably winced. Among everything the wizard had said, only one name could have had the power to cause such an effect. And it had nothing to do with Voldemort.

It was mere moments later, when she was on the verge of exiting the chamber, that Hermione was abruptly stopped in her tracks by a gentle hand upon her forearm. Looking up, she again found herself peering into the eyes of the once regal witch.

'Miss Granger,' she said, 'I'm well aware that you and I could hardly be called acquaintances but I... well... how can I put it?' A soft sigh. 'Whatever you have done, I just want to say thank you and that I – I forgive you... Whatever in the world that might mean.'

For all of her intelligence, Hermione was lost in the explanation as well. However, that did not stop her from comprehending that something had passed between the two of them that evening. The origin of which she was determined to find out sooner or later, but for now she simply allowed herself to feel...content.

Reaching a decision, Hermione slowly nodded back in consent. 'Thank you for your words...' she hesitated slightly before softly adding, 'Miss Black.'

The grateful squeeze upon her arm was fleeting but clearly detectable before the hand was gone and the older witch walked through the doorway.

Gazing after the retreating form of Narcissa Black, Hermione gradually became aware of another feeling beginning to flourish within her consciousness. Something she believed to have been long lost to her.

It was hope.

* * *

><p><em>If that's what déjà vu always feels like, I will gladly forego experiencing it again.<em>

Granted, the vast room she was herded into was not the same one she had had the privilege to visit all those days ago. Everything around her, from the stone columns to the looming ceiling high above her, came across as being more massive, one could say intimidating. Be that as it may, the emblem of danger did not come from the floor beneath her feet or even the emerald illumination that gleamed eerily through the cracks of the ground onto the walls above.

There was possibly nothing that could have been more threatening than the sight of the Death Eaters filling that chamber. Though their presence was foreseeable, even expected, the scene before her would have made any lesser witch or wizard weep in sheer despair.

Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, as far as the eye could see, were hundreds of black-cloaked figures. Even if one had had a sudden, unexplainable desire to count each and every one of them, the number would have still remained immeasurable. They certainly managed to raise each and every hair on her nape to attention.

Thus Hermione found herself, once more, walking amongst them, for all appearance like a lamb lead to the slaughter. She had no doubt that it was what they all saw. An amusement amid a pack of carnivores... leashed hyenas awaiting their master's command for the chance to nip upon her heels. Curiosity, disdain, and fear. Everything came upon her like a tidal wave. Cynical emotions of every possible magnitude suddenly assailed her senses to the point where she found herself once more upon the brink of being overwhelmed.

No. She had come way too far to fall prey to losing her mind. Whatever was wrong with her could well wait to claim her sanity.

And then she saw him, sitting imperiously upon his throne. The moment she focused upon his cloaked form, Hermione was blessed with composure once more. That was all that mattered now. Even Severus Snape's presence upon his right-hand side, standing with his hands behind his back, did not steer her attention away. Her former professor was another problem she was unwilling to deal with yet.

When she was at last brought to a stop, Hermione found herself standing to the side, her back towards the wall, with an ideal viewpoint to see everything in front of her. The gathering seemingly complete, her gaze strayed once again towards the crowd of expectant Death Eaters. However, beginning to feel unbalanced once more, she unconsciously focused back upon Voldemort like on some sort of depraved anchor. But all that mattered was the cease-fire of her emotions. Nothing more.

Whatever noise there was dissolved in the same instant the gloved hand rose into the air. For a number of moments Lord Voldemort simply sat there, silent, inspecting all those standing before him.

'Each and every one of you,' he said at last, his voice carrying into every corner of the room, 'is wondering what shall come to pass tonight... and rightfully so, my servants.' He reclined back against his throne, an image of power and repose. 'For today will mark the rise of an old and a new law, something which has been long overdue from the start of my regime. Many among you served long and steadfast by my side through all those years of peril and careful planning. But then, there are those of you who joined my cause once the victory was inevitable. And all for the thirst of grasping your chance at survival... power... _pressstige_.'

The inhuman hiss carried along the air of the chamber, akin to a caress, forcing involuntarily shudders out of those whom it happened to affect the most.

'However,' continued Voldemort, and everything became still once more, 'I have never much cared for the reasons why one choses to serve me as long as he does so faithfully and well. In the end, there are only those who are loyal to me until their last drawn breath, as they have sworn to do in return for receiving the honour of my Mark. And then there are the fallen ones... fools who lose the sense of their fear as they start imagining themselves higher than the ones above them. A disgrace to everything a Death Eater stands for!'

The words were akin to a whip upon the black-clad figures, who shuddered in response where they stood. Some went so far as to hastily drop on one knee in a meek show of submissiveness and fear.

Hermione simply continued to gaze at the enraged Dark Lord in silent expectation, curious to see what was about to happen next.

'Treason was, and will forever be judged mercilessly. Whether that is against me or your fellow brothers and sisters. Unfortunately, too many of you have disappointed me lately. I am the ultimate hand of law here, and I believe it's time the lot of you faced the cost of your actions. Bring in the accused!'

All eyes trained upon the two hulking Death Eaters who emerged from a barely noticeable doorway beside the dais. Their cloaked figures proceeded to walk straight to the empty space directly opposite the raised throne with someone held firmly in between them. Not truly believing her eyes at first, Hermione blinked once. Twice. She had stumbled upon moments of fantasy such as this before without once believing that something similar could ever happen in harsh reality. How wrong she was, it seemed.

With a hard shove upon his shoulders, the prisoner's legs folded beneath him, bringing his knees against the stone floor with an audible thud. Matted white-blond hair hid any sign of pain the man would have deigned to show. With any luck, it was a lot.

'_Lucius Abraxas Malfoy_,' hissed the Dark Lord, leaning eagerly towards the direction of the kneeling wizard. 'You stand here accused of one of the most punishable offences in accordance with Pure-blood Lore: the murder of blood kin. Or will you perhaps plead innocent to the murder of your son, Draco Lucien Malfoy?'

Slowly, as if in a dream, the prisoner's head lifted up. Every line of the revealed profile was etched in a hatred so deep that it was practically nauseating.

'Innocent?' he spat. 'Hardly. Yes, I killed that worthless pup but out of sheer necessity. He dared to defy me, my own flesh and blood! At the end, he was no son of mine. Nothing but a traitor to _you_, My Lord!'

'Regardless of that, my _faithful_ servant,' allowed the wizard in question, his tone mocking, 'you have still broken the law of your precious ancestors. Or do you wish to say that what flows oh so purely within your veins matters so little to you, in fact? Will you have the nerve to defy the rules of your forebears? Mock every witch and wizard in here by ignoring the importance of family values and lineage?'

Harsh whispers broke out around the chamber. The tension escalated as every Death Eater contemplated the implication of what had just been said. For his part, Malfoy seemed to regain most of his poise, looking much calmer than he had moments earlier. _Too_ calm.

The blond wizard waited for the murmurs to tone down before answering, 'With all due respect, under the present circumstances, that rule cannot possibly be applied to me. The same law dictates that I, as the last male descendent of the Malfoy line, cannot be subjected to death. I find myself without an heir, and no matter what felony I'm accused of, the continuation of my pure-blood name stands as priority. That's what the law states as well... My Lord.'

Hermione's mind protested fiercely at the new development. Despite Voldemort's ingenious plan to introduce a wizarding trial, no matter how biased, Lucius Malfoy's cunning mind would once again pull him out of the jaws of retribution. So certain was he of that fact that he dared to smile, his sneer showcasing the hidden insanity within. Inbreeding at its finest.

Voldemort did not react as she would have expected him to. In fact, the young witch could have sworn she heard his smile when he spoke next. 'Priority, you say? I'm afraid your darling wife would disagree with you on the matter of what the priority actually is. She's most likely to slit your lily-white throat before allowing you the chance to breed her again. He was her son too, you know. How absolutely _crass_ of you, Lucius.'

Malfoy's face flushed as hushed taunts and cackling filled the room around him. 'She won't have a choice,' he retorted darkly.

'Ah,' sighed Voldemort. 'Lucius, Lucius, Lucius... my rich, gullible servant. Once again you envision yourself possessing intelligence far greater than mine. Do you think me unaware of your laws? I truly tried to give you an easy way out of this shameful trial. Very well. I'm afraid you have given me no other choice but to retaliate against your pathetic excuse for prolonging the inevitable. In response to your appeal, I, Lord Voldemort, hereby invoke the Right of Judgment.'

_You gotta be kidding me._

Whilst the majority of the wizards and witches remained perplexed, Hermione's mind reeled in unadulterated shock. No, that was impossible. The mere implications of what that might hold were unthinkable. And yet, she almost choked on an involuntary gasp as the magic swirled wildly around the chamber, a clear indication that what she had just heard was no child's play at words and empty promises. It was far, far too serious for anything of that kind. And if she remembered well, if one considered the nature of all those gathered here, there would be only one outcome to this.

Lucius Malfoy was about to walk free – guiltless. Untouched.

The young witch closed her eyes in despair as the noise around her soared to unavoidable heights. Those who knew what had just been called upon passed it along to those who stood closest to them, and those people, in turn, whispered it to the others until the knowledge swiftly surged through the whole parametre of the vast chamber. Bewilderment and shock was abandoned. And though every eye was trained upon their Lord in silent bafflement, no one dared come forward to question him.

No one would.

There was no one desperate enough. No one with a wish so great that they were willing to reap revenge using such a perilous method. In her mind's eye she once again saw the form of Malfoy's wife as she had stood but moments ago, shoulders straight, her delicate chin raised in blatant denial... and her features contorted in razor-sharp pain as hopelessness once again reigned supreme.

'Isn't there _anyone_...' Voldemort's hand swept elegantly across the air, 'who is willing to come forward and claim the entitlement? Anyone ready to gamble for the sake of righteous justice? Or perhaps to prove that there's no difference amongst us once we are forced to confront the true face of fate?'

_Difference... difference... difference_.

The curly-haired witch winced involuntarily as an unexpected pain sliced sharply through her palm. Looking down, she reflexively allowed her fist to unclench. There they were: four half-moon marks upon her skin, so deep that the blood flooding the surface of her skin made them virtually undetectable. Already partially crusted in certain places, the ruby liquid nonetheless remained true and fresh as it created thick rivulets along her skin, collecting into tiny droplets at the edge of her palm – from which they proceeded to plummet to the cold stone with an inaudible splash.

_Difference._

And then, she allowed herself to remember.

* * *

><p><em>The night was alive with fire.<em>

_Flames erupted into the blackness above with an intensity born of magic and rage. They were everywhere, destroying everything in their path, whether stone, fabric or something else entirely. Even the dewy grass beneath was on fire, patches of mini infernos stretching across the field and away to the looming trees blazing on the horizon. Piles of smoking debris drifted agonizingly slowly towards the starless sky from countless scattered piles lying upon the scarred ground. The surrounding stench of burning flesh was too authentically nauseating and frightening for there to be any doubt as to what those piles of cloaks and robes really were._

_In the midst of all that hell, she stumbled around, flinging curses right and left at every dark shape she encountered. Whether they were her enemies or simple tricks of light and shadow scarcely mattered anymore. Nothing did._

_All of a sudden, her foot caught upon something unseen, and she promptly tumbled towards the ground. There was only a dull pain as she managed to catch herself upon her elbows in time to prevent herself from colliding face-first with the familiar ground. For a moment there, lying motionlessly upon the blood-soaked grass, she considered whether it was not simpler to just remain where she was. That was where she belonged now, her place beside her friends. How easy it would be to close her eyes and fall into the hovering abyss and think no more._

_But before she could reach a decision, she felt a pair of hands grab hold of her forearms as she was forcefully yanked upwards._

_Though drained both emotionally and physically, she instantly began to fight for all she was worth, flailing her elbows and knees in hopes of inflicting as much damage as possible. She was just about to use her teeth when a pale hand managed to lock her jaws together and the voice of her attacker finally registered within her fervent mind._

_'Stop it! For fuck's sake, I'm trying to help you!'_

_No. It couldn't be._

_And yet, there she was, staring dumbfounded into Draco Malfoy's contorted features hovering above her. His face was uncharacteristically dirty, covered in soot and splashes of dirt and his hair in complete disarray. But it was his eyes that arrested her attention the most – as clear a gray as ever, there was enough despair and torment within them to make her wish to cry anew._

_'There's no time. Run directly to the Apparition point, and don't turn back,' he ordered. But there must have been something in her face that he did not like. Grabbing her shoulders once more, the blond wizard shook her hard enough to make her teeth rattle. 'It's over, Granger! Over! Get out of here – get out while you still can!'_

_It was perhaps the first time words had ever failed her as she weakly stammered, 'B-but... aren't you supposed... I don't understand... why?'_

_'Guilt's a funny thing. In time you learn to see that not everything is bloody black and white. I'm just doing what I believe is right. Now go.'_

_When she still hesitated, Malfoy gave her a violent push, making her stumble and almost sprawl back onto the ground._

_'GO!' he roared._

_Shuddering in indecisiveness and confusion, she took one shaking step back. A second. She was about to turn around and do just as she had been advised when her eyes fell upon a point beyong her former classmate's shoulder. The sight that met her froze the blood within her veins in an instant, rooting her in place._

_Upon the path, in all of his usual, pristine glory stood Lucius Malfoy, his Death Eater robes silhouetted ominously against the backdrop of the burning castle. Every strand of his white-blond hair lay in its perfect place, as if mocking the disarray of the chaos around him. Even from where she stood, with several feet separating them, she saw the glint of fire reflecting in his unblinking eyes. And in that same instant, she knew that Azkaban had chewed him up and spit him out not completely intact. The man was mad._

_'What are you up to, Draco?' he asked in a gentle tone, raising the hairs upon her neck. 'Ah, no matter. Step away from her now. I believe the little Mudblood deserves a more proper... farewell.'_

_The younger Malfoy's arms were raised in the air, palms facing slightly up. The same gesture was used to placate dangerous criminals... or rabid animals._

_But she saw the way those hands of his shook slightly as he faced the wizard in front of him. The young wizard was clearly terrified out of his wits. But still he persisted._

_'Father, please...hear me out. We've won. There's nothing else to be done now. With Potter gone, she's of no more use to us. Just let her go. There – there have been too many deaths already. Please,' begged Draco in a near-whisper._

_And all the while he spoke, his slow, careful steps brought him inconspicuously closer to her until his tall, cloaked body shielded her from the lunatic that was his flesh and blood._

_In a flash, all pretense of amiability was gone. 'I said, get out of the way, you useless twit!' bellowed the elder Malfoy, spittle flying in all directions. 'She's a Mudblood, a vermin fit for extermination! Yet you dare stand there, protecting her with your pure-blooded body? Do you think that will stop me, boy? You are weak!' he spat. 'A worthless offspring from a doormat of a bitch! I'm telling you one last time...get out of my way!'_

_Seconds ticked past as silence remained undisturbed, only the last remnants of faraway screams of despair and agony resonating faintly across the carrying wind._

_'No, father,' whispered Draco at last._

_She had no time to ponder the sudden resigned tone in his voice...for in the next moment, the thick air was cut by a swishing sound, closely followed by another one, resonating much more dully and sickeningly wet the second time around._

_For an instant, everything stood still._

_Then, there came a faint gurgling sound. Agonizingly slow, like in some kind of twisted memory or dream, Draco fell to his knees. There he continued to kneel for what seemed like countless moments before his limp body began to tilt to the side. She didn't remember moving. But when she became conscious once more, she found herself upon the grass beside him, gently holding his head on her knees between her shaking hands._

_She had no need to look down his mangled body to know that the injuries there were well beyond her power to repair. Her blurry vision detected a tangle of lumps spilling away from the vicinity of his slashed stomach. Things that were never meant to see either the light of day or the stillness of night. But she did not cry. She ruthlessly stomped upon the rising hysteria that clawed desperately from within her. He deserved at least that much._

_And as Draco Malfoy lay dying in the arms of the very girl he had been taught to detest with all his heart, he did not cry or whimper. Instead, with a strength that opposed his condition, he managed to snatch one of her hands from above him. Bringing it closer to his face for inspection, his eyes squinted as if in deep concentration._

_Numbly following his line of sight, she dimly wondered what held him so fascinated. Long, elegant fingers held her hand where her own minor cuts were clearly visible and were still steadily bleeding. Tilting it slightly to the side, he brought his hand above hers. In a trance, she watched the rivulets of his blood travel down his fingers and onto her palm, whereupon his blood and hers mixed together. Red on red._

_Another gurgling sound forced her eyes to shift back to his face where she found his already staring back at her. Upon meeting her gaze, his infamous smirk once more appeared upon his features. If not for the steady trickle of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth or the noises his ruined ribcage forced out of his throat, he would have been the Malfoy of old she had met all those distant years ago. Children, they were. Innocent. Untried. And burning with joy for life._

_Giving one last glance towards their joined hands, he looked back at her and managed to wheeze out, 'Knew... there was... no... difference.'_

_She didn't question him. There was no need._

_Gray eyes stared unblinking into the smoke-filled sky, a half-smile forever etched upon his face._

* * *

><p>Lord Voldemort allowed his body to relax languidly back against his throne as he basked in the whirling emotions around him. While the taste of expectancy hovered steadily around his right-hand side, it was the magnitude of reactions from the rest of his servants that brought him ultimate pleasure. Fear, hesitancy and confusion throbbed in unison with each other, creating a cocktail of a potency that brought the measure of his delight to new levels.<p>

But he would have been lying to himself if he dismissed his own heady expectancy.

Finally, after what seemed like an age of silence and hushed whispers, two clear words were announced for all to hear, 'I am.'

_And thus, it begins._

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><p><strong><em>*<em>clears throat* Well... so far, this is my last completed chapter, folks! Which of course means that I am working on the next one at the moment but it might take some time before it's all polished to my utter satisfaction! Which also means that I am in dear need of mass encouragement from you! Feed the muse! *hehe***

**REVIEW REPLIES:**

**arabellagrace**: Thank you very much! Really means a lot ;)

**ShadowCrawlerCiel**: Then I am deliriously pleased to have managed to hook you, darling! It is my sincerest hope that the update did not disappoint you ;) Looking forward to hearing your opinion! Hehe *gives a not-so-subtle wink* x

**liidg**: Hehehe... and what about now? Hope it still is *keeps all of her ten fingers crossed* Thank you for leaving a review yet again! You are superb ;)

**river**: It's the best complement any fanfic author (or writer in general) could possibly receive, I think! _*_sheds a happy tear* Thank you very much for such heartfelt words, river! And I will try my best to not disappoint you in any way with this story of mine ;)

**cosettex**: Ah, my darling! I couldn't resist but reply to your reviews yet again! Every time I read them, it makes my heart sore to new levels... and in addition to that, there are just not enough Voldemort/Hermione shippers out there *sad pout* Ah yes, a world ruled by Voldemort! The image itself brings about both a shiver of horror and delight... a heady mix, indeed! *cackles evilly* And concerning the towel scene: I couldn't agree with you more! In some ways, I just couldn't resist writing it as it is. I have always admired Snape as a complex character, who possesses the possibility of immense exploration and depth almost on the same level as Voldemort himself. But you should have seen the reaction of poor Nerys and Serpent when they read it! I thought that scene had scared them for life... bwahahaha! Chapter 5 is still on its slow path of progress, but my hope is strong! And I am likewise looking forward to reading the next chapter of your awesome story! Near muggle Voldemort... I still can't imagine it *sobs* Thank you yet again, cosettex! XD

**know-it-all**: It's great to see/read such show of enthusiasm! Yet again, I hope I haven't left you disappointed and eager for more! Thank you! x

**Victorian**: Your review must be one of the most up-lifting and encouraging ones I have read in a while! This story is my first go at a dark!fic genre, and I have to confess that so far I enjoy every second of writing it - immensely!. Also, I wholeheartedly agree with you on the fact that there are a number of dark stories out there that concentrate on the most simplistic points, without bothering to explore the possibility of the mystery "within", so to say. Therefore, all things considered, I am overjoyed that you are finding this tale of mine of great interest and have set it to such a high standard... which means that my greatest fear now is to disappoint you! ))) Thank you yet again for your kind words, and I look forward to reading your opinion on this chapter! Ms Velvela XD

**Avrilavril**: LOL. I most certainly take "wow" as the greatest compliment of exclamation! Hehe... thank you! x_  
><em>


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I do apologize for a rather late update... However, it looks like the time in-between is getting shorter with every chapter! *smirks triumphantly***

**On another note... I would like to stress one point in particular: if you do _not_ enjoy reading Hermione/Voldemort centric stories (and mine is marked as Mature for a reason, people!), then for Merlin's sake do not _READ_ them! I would very much prefer getting heartfelt reviews from those that _do_ enjoy my work then from the ones who are simply wasting both my time and theirs to boot... *shakes off the negative feeling* :)  
><strong>

**Anyway, I'm finished with my rumblings!**

**Enjoy!**

**Ms Velvela XD**

* * *

><p>Special thanks go to my lovely beta <em><strong>Liongirl11!<strong>_ I wish you a wonderful holiday... You deserve it! Mwa! :) And of course, to all who reviewed! Your opinion is the greatest praise of all *wink wink, nudge nudge*

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

_The Right of Judgment._

A ritual so ancient that the parchment upon which it had first been scribbled ought to have long since turned to air and dust.

It was said that from time immemorial, Mother Nature ruled over all that covered the Earth's surface- both seen and hidden. Common and magical. She discerned no difference between the two opposing realms and saw no purpose in taking favourites from within the general flow of the universe. Life was a gift and death its given due.

For thousands of years, both the magical and Muggle worlds existed in relative peace under the laws of nature's whims, in a so-called cycle of life. Animals and people alike knew of no other order than the one they had been born into. But as with all occurrences in the grand scheme of antiquity, people ultimately started to question their beliefs.

It was the wizards who first began to doubt the fairness of the world around them. Too many had lost their respective fathers, mothers, sons and daughters well before their time. For all the powers of magic that existed around them, Justice did not always deign to turn her sightless gaze upon them. Money bought freedom and pardon just as effectively as antidotes annulled the effects of the renown truth serum. Hence, murderers and rapists walked free; their conscience clear and crimes unpunished.

The legend goes that one fateful day, a wizarding court failed to convict the murderer and rapist of a twelve-year-old girl. A highborn wizard he was, rich and powerful at that. Once more the value of money played its corrupted role, and the regretful event of an unsolved crime would have eventually been forgotten and lost in long history of violence and injustice.

Whilst all had turned away and moved on with their respective lives, one woman did not. Neither could she forget or forgive. Instead of accepting the inevitable cruelty of injustice and fate like all others had done before her, one of the most powerful and cleverest witches of her age put forth all of her magical capability and knowledge to revenge the death of her only child.

And thus a spell was born; a ritual, as some later called it. Magic as magnificent as it was frightening, for the grief of a childless mother poured all of its overwhelming love, hate and revenge into its creation.

It is said that it was on a village square that the witch sought out the murderer of her daughter and presented him with a challenge. If the very essence of magic itself found him guilty of the crime from which he had walked away unscathed, his body and soul would be purged from the plane's existence forever more. However, if he were to be found innocent of what he was accused of, then it would mean her death in his stead. The wizard's mocking laughter boomed long and loud along with the others that stood gathered in the courtyard- all knew that no such magic existed. But the highborn wizard was as confident as he was haughty and thus agreed to the demented woman's dare.

It is no longer fully clear what happened next. All the surviving public records spoke of was that the witch invoked some kind of ritual by means of words and wandless magic. None present that day could ever explain what occurred following that either. All they ever remembered for the rest of their lives were the blood-curling screams of the wizard that echoed long after he had vanished from where he stood.

And as for the witch who, at long last, had reaped the revenge for her child that no magic could ever return? She disappeared into parts unknown, never to be seen again.

But after that decisive day, the ritual was repeated. The damning words continued to fall from the lips of many grieving wizards and witches alike. However, not all reached the same culmination their thirst for revenge sought so desperately. Every so often, there happened to be those who were wrongly convicted, victims of deceit and wronged themselves. And once the ritual's magic found them innocent, it was the essence of the accused that took their place instead. A moral justice beyond anything else the wizarding world had ever seen before.

In the end, the ritual was reckoned too dangerous and powerful for the general knowledge of all. Obliviation was administered, and the records of the enchantment sealed. People have always feared the unknown, and the spell created by a vengeful mother was too much of an unknown force of nature to be tampered with. All became equal under the ultimate power of justice, and all secretly shivered in dread of what the actual truth really held. In the long run, people turned back to their courts and councils for fairness and lies, and the Right of Judgment, as it came to be known, became but a dim memory of a history better left forgotten.

Until now.

* * *

><p><em>I am.<em>

Her lips and tongue moved well before Hermione caught up with what they were executing for her. Neither was she aware of the exact moment she stepped forward, all eyes now fastened upon her. And when her mind finally grasped what she planned on doing, she resolutely waited for that burning sensation of fear, even confusion, to overwhelm her as it had so righteously done every time she dared to cross her principles in the past.

But no such feeling followed.

And it was right there, standing amongst hundreds of Death Eaters in an age that no longer belonged to the one she had been born and raised in, that Hermione's eyelids fluttered shut and she mourned the loss of the girl she had once been for one last time.

'Ah, I see we have a champion in our midst_sss._'

A sparse number of snickers and laughter scattered around the grand chamber, no doubt from those who were once again desperate enough to try and please their Dark Lord. However, she barely paid any attention to them. The majority of the black-clad figures held their tongues resolutely behind their teeth, either lost in their ignorance or shocked into silence altogether.

All that Voldemort's words brought out of her was the slightest raise of her head, the silent assent unmistakable.

Absolute stillness settled around them momentarily once more, everybody's attention wrapped around what was about to happen next.

'Very well,' came the satisfied hiss of acceptance.

Instantaneously, the Dark Lord's body shifted from his position of languidness upon the granite throne. In the blink of an eye, his cloaked countenance transformed into one of seriousness and ferocious intent.

And when he spoke, the words that escaped the darkness of his hood were as beautiful in their nature as they were deadly. A sound both unknown and yet so familiar that it brought a swarm of shivers along her body. Words in a language that the wizarding world had survived on for millennia, yet so few had bothered to master.

'Omnes stant iudicio unius testimonium Lucii Abraxi Malfoi, ultimus nomina eius. Qui scelera sua, invocat.'

_All stand witness to the trial of one Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, the last of his name. Who calls upon his crimes?_

The shallow breath that escaped her half-parted lips sounded unnaturally loud to Hermione's ears. But there was no hesitation when she spoke next. Words rolled off her tongue without a single thought to their origin or nature, neither knowing nor caring from what depths of hell her consciousness could have dragged them.

'Ego, Hermione Jean Granger, ultimus nomina mei, accusare of Lucius Malfoy Abraxan caedem unicus, Draco Malfoy Lucius. Corporis mulierem facit, facit per carnem humanam, et super sanguinem qui faciat mihi, magicas ... Recte hoc invocare iudicii.'

_I, Hermione Jean Granger, the last of my name, accuse Lucius Abraxas Malfoy of the murder of his only child, Draco Lucius Malfoy. By the body that makes a woman, by the flesh that makes me human, and by the blood that makes me one with magic... I hereby invoke the Right of Judgment._

As soon as the last syllable fell from her lips, the enchantment seized its power. Invisible chains wrapped themselves around her body, crisscrossing themselves along her chest, hips and limbs, trapping her ruthlessly right where she stood. The mere thought of fighting against the power that pulsed against her exposed skin would have been pure madness. The caster's role began and ended with the incantation of strongest intent, after which it was the magic that took hold of the stage until the very end, no longer controllable or tame.

A lesser witch would have instinctually begun to get frantic. Hermione simply awaited the inevitable.

Although not all appeared to share her sentiments. As Lucius Malfoy's kneeling form jerked violently as the very same bindings took hold of him, his previous cold-headedness seemed to abandon him. The whites of his panic-stricken eyes were clearly visible as they darted frantically between his Lord and her in shaking disbelief. His mouth opened and closed in a fruitless attempt to strangle something out as sheer terror overtook him.

'Now, do tell us, Lucius,' intoned Voldemort, his words understandable to all. 'Do you find yourself justified in killing your son? A rightful Death Eater under my command? Your own flesh and blood, a young and potentially talented pureblooded wizard who had yet to see his twentieth year?'

Instead of answering, Malfoy started to shake uncontrollably as much as the magical bindings permitted him, madness seeping blazingly into his grey eyes.

'Answer me!' bellowed the Dark Lord in his dignified displeasure.

But the only response he received was the unanticipated sound of crazed giggles as rivulets of spit flowed freely from the blond wizard's mouth, scrunched up in a hysterical grimace.

The Death Eaters stared at the laughing pureblood in utter silence. And Hermione felt it so crystal clear then: the disgust, shock and absolute horror that hung as dark as a shadow above them all. But the subject of their focus was already too far gone in his own personal dementia to see or notice anything around him anymore, his trembling body held rigidly between the two black-cloaked wizards. Both of whom observed him now with identical expressions of revulsion.

'Then let that be your answer,' announced Voldemort in a near-whisper. His concealed gaze shifted purposefully towards the sea of his hushed followers. For a number of moments his thoughts remained unvoiced, as if contemplating each and every one of them personally.

'There's not a single one of you who fails to sense the magic that surrounds you tonight. I know that many amongst you had a foolish sense of courage to question the righteousne_ssss_ behind my treatment of you on certain occasions. Some of you have even been so bold as to raise the subject of justice within your minds.' A vicious smile coloured the words spoken next. 'You wished for the ultimate salvation of justice? I will _show_it to you.'

Once again the attention of the Dark Lord fell upon her. And not for a moment did she contemplate turning her eyes away from him as she found herself within that desolate void of calmness that she had already come to associate solely with him.

'What shall your judgment be, _Dikastisss?_'

Without thought, Hermione's eyes darted towards the kneeling man, unintentionally locking her gaze with his. At once, her consciousness was overtaken by an avalanche of emotions...so maniacal and violent that she should have been ripping the hair out of her scalp in an attempt to escape the sheer madness clawing from within her. But instead, her face transformed into a mask of such potent hatred that she would have surely trembled to behold it in her own reflection. But not today.

There were no thoughts of what might happen if her next word was deemed to be the wrong one. There were no doubts. No hesitation. Nothing but the truth.

'Crimen.'

Without warning, the invisible ropes around her squeezed her to the brink of blinding pain the likes of which she had never experienced before. So strong were they, that she would have undoubtedly fallen to her knees if the very same magic hadn't kept her standing in place. But the worst was still to come.

Images forced themselves to the forefront of her mind in one violent, powerful pull. Memories, scenes and picture-like recountings of the most violent and tragic moments of her life flashed right before her closed eyes, at last tearing a sound of anguish from what felt like her very soul. In a matter of mere seconds, it felt like she had revealed the worst possible moments of her existence to date. And right then, just for an instant, she wished for her own death anew. Anything to stop the torrent of what she was experiencing..

But then, as abruptly as it had begun, it was all over.

The pain was gone and the images plaguing her eyes with it. She did not know for how long she stood there, coming back to herself and trembling. However, mere moments seemed to have passed, for upon finally forcing her eyes open once more, she beheld the exact verdict that had been decided upon.

The last memory Hermione ever had of Lucius Malfoy was the look within his eyes. The crazed, hatred-filled gaze of a madman, before his body was abruptly engulfed in the sinisterly familiar white light. His screams of agonizing pain echoed sharply along the vastness of the room long after he disappeared from his pitiful existence. The two Death Eaters leaped away just in time to stare bewilderedly at the smoking spot where their prisoner had kneeled moments ago.

As for the young woman herself, she continued to stand where she was, no longer in pain but with all of her inner self whirling for other reasons altogether.

_My congratulations._

The voice that now whispered within her head was unmistakable. Only one possessed such uniqueness, as soft and lethal as poison-drenched silk. She felt no dismay upon finding its owner already standing by her side. Her mind clouded by bewilderment and confusion, she peered into the endless blackness of his hood with eyes that conveyed it all.

_All in good time. Patience always brings its own untold rewards._

Encompassed afresh in a gradual return to calmness, Hermione watched his arm extend towards her as he spoke out loud. 'The events of this day have worn you down. Let me be your escort to your chambers, Miss Granger. A good night's sleep is in order. And tomorrow, we shall talk.'

Shock must still have had its hold on her, for only that could have possibly explained why she let her palm rest upon Lord Voldemort's forearm, the material underneath her hand surprisingly warm and soft. No longer bound by magical restraints, her body movements felt uncommonly languid as the two of them began their procession towards the looming archway. The Death Eaters standing in their path swiftly parted to let them pass. Each one upon whom her eyes chanced to fall hastily dropped their gazes.

And thus Hermione Granger began to accept the possibility that it was simply meant to be.

* * *

><p>Sleep evaded her for the longest time that night. Random scenes from the past days kept flashing in front of her whenever she chanced to close her eyes; Pettigrew, screaming his throat out raw as the magic engulfed his repulsive body. Malfoy and the groundless hatred directed at her within his deranged eyes before he followed the same fate as the one before him. But no matter how many images her mind replayed or what was said and done, she came no closer to the answer she so desperately sought. Only upon draining herself to the brink of mental exhaustion by sorting through every possible assumption, each one more unimaginable than the other, did she finally managed to succumb to Morpheus' merciless embrace.<p>

For the first time in months, neither Harry nor Ron appeared to her within her restless dreams.

But neither of her best friends were on her mind when she found herself sitting in an unfamiliar room the following afternoon. Awakening roughly at the unaccustomed sound of a knock on her door that morning, she discovered that Voldemort's words hadn't been simply a deceptive promise when he stated that he planned on the two of them having a talk. How one-sided that conversation was to be, however, she was yet uncertain of. All that the missive a hurried-looking Death Eater had passed on to her before slipping from her doorway as swiftly as possible had said was for her to arrive ar a designated room at four p.m. sharp. Alone, without a single servant of his to escort her to it.

Hereupon she sat in that very chamber alone at the appointed time, the room around her as silent as an age-old grave. Yet she absentmindedly catalogued every detail she could grasp, her attention peaked by a number of things within it.

The unique smell of wood and parchment had always held a certain appeal to her throughout her life, and the study around her had it in abundance. Yet even that failed to keep her interest for long. Instead, for all of her famed self-control, she couldn't prevent herself from focusing on the sight of dozens of books piled up neatly upon the ceiling-high shelves along the length of the opposite wall. And even though there was no doubt as to what subject those volumes were dedicated, she all but devoured every spine and hint of age-worn page on display. Her hands bunched up convulsively around the material on her knees in an attempt to ward off the desire to touch them.

'I trust your night went well?'

The unexpected enquiry caused Hermione's body to reflexively jerk in surprise. She could have only hazarded a guess as to how long he had already been standing there, raptly cataloguing every expression and thought upon her face.

'I've had better. And worse,' was her truthful response.

No further comments forthcoming, Lord Voldemort progressed unhurriedly further into the room. Upon settling himself gracefully across from her, he threw his arm casually onto the back of his lounger. The action seemed so uncharacteristic of him that she momentarily stumbled in inward uncertainty. There was something about the way he moved that brought her speculative mind to the surface.

However, before she had the chance to organise her thoughts properly, his voice sounded once more within the shadowy chamber.

'Tell me, how do you feel, Miss Granger?'

The sole fact that he had deigned to enquire about her health, when she was, for all intents and purposes, a Mudblood within his eyes, should have at least baffled her. But for some inexplicable reason, it didn't. Neither did she attempt to play coy in feigning confusion as to what he was really talking about. And once more, simple honesty was her only answer.

'Confused.'

'But not horrified?'

'No, not horrified,' she said, a worried frown creasing her forehead. 'And perhaps that's the most terrifying thing of all.'

She went silent for a while. Unbidden, the faces of those who had perished came forth once more to her eyes. Harry, whose choices had been taken from him from the very day he was born. Ron...sweet, awkward Ron, the most loyal and foolhardy of them all. Even Draco, with whom she hadn't shared a single thing in common, yet who had managed to prove what he was truly capable of at the end of it all.

Overwhelmed by all the senseless deaths her heart was burdened with, the expression upon Hermione's face suddenly shifted into the hardness of stone.

'They deserved to die. Pettigrew and Malfoy both. So no, I'm not really horrified to have played a role in their deaths. I simply wish that they had done so sooner,' she stated, unforgiving.

Upon hearing her added remark, the Dark Lord uttered something that could have passed for a chuckle. 'Such bloodthirstiness, and from a Gryffindor no less. I'm starting to speculate on whether Hogwarts sorted its students too soon.'

The absence of any further comment upon that subject appeared to prolong the dark wizard's twisted humour, seemingly delighting in her lack of protest. Most times, silence spoke louder than any words could ever do. Continuing to emit an aura of unpronounceable delight, he fluidly stood up and walked across the carpeted floor until he came to stand beside the very same shelves she has been so intently observing earlier. The tips of his gloved fingers delicately caressed the spines of the piled books, her eyes following their movement with rapt attention.

'Tell me, Miss Granger,' he rasped in a low voice, 'what is your true opinion of the subject of the Dark Arts?'

Unconsciously, the witch's arched eyebrows furrowed, as they always did when faced with a complex academic question.

'It has always been assumed and therefore taught that the magic of the Dark Arts draws on malevolent powers. I've never fully agreed with that philosophy, though. Magic, in whatever form it is, comes from a neutral source well beyond common understanding. It neither appears to take sides or have a colour. It is the intent behind it that categorizes it as dark or not.'

'Hmm...an interesting idea, but a common theory at its best.'

Affronted, Hermione's back straightened with the force of her indignation. 'Hogwarts' curriculum prevented its students from even touching subjects of such nature, as you well know! Texts that merely mentioned in passing the subject of dark magic were strictly forbidden. Even the older students weren't allowed to write their essays on them. I've tried so many times to request a special permission, for academic purposes only, of course, but I,' Hermione scoffed in annoyance, '–I got refused each and every time.'

'Which means that you are most certainly lagging behind in comprehending the wizarding history as well, then. Such a pity, really... A worthy mind is in need of constant sharpening, otherwise it will dull with misuse and boredom.'

A sharp response was begging to fall from her lips, but his voice interrupted her once more before she could have uttered a single syllable of protest.

'Feel free to have a closer look at them. I know you desire to. You would be a fool to refuse something I am more than willing to share with you.'

Pulled towards the sight of the books his fingers recommenced stroking, Hermione slowly rose and cautiously approached, her robes rustling softly with every step she took. Halting somewhere to the wizard's left side, her eyes glued once more to the volumes now right in front of her. They ran along every title with vehement curiosity, drinking in the sight of even those that had nothing written upon them.

Lost within her own personal delirium, she failed to notice when the Dark Lord shifted from his position. Only when his hand came to rest against the shelf just above her shoulder, effectively enclosing her between the books and his cloaked body, did she come to the realisation of how close he suddenly was to her. Without a single touch she felt herself entrapped in ways that no physical connection could have ever achieved.

'You state that the essence of magic is colourless. Yet the killing curse is green, the colour of life and nature,' he said in a hushed whisper. He paused, the unexpected sensation of breath suddenly ruffling the strands of her hair, sending an uncontrollable shiver up her spine in response. 'Everything in existence is so much more than what you give it credit for.'

The witch in question had to swallow once, convulsively, before she could speak again. 'What do you regard as the Dark Arts, then?'

There was a slight pause, as if the wizard at her back momentarily contemplated whether to give her an answer or not.

'All brands of magic are a precious knowledge. And knowledge is power. That is enough for me.'

Knowledge. That was something she could easily relate to. For all of her known life, she had strived to learn more, better. At last, the time arrived when general education was simply not enough for her inquisitive mind anymore. Yet, when she was prepared to open herself up to all the wizarding world had the possibility to give, she stumbled into a brick wall of single-mindedness. An absurd law preventing anyone, no matter with what intention, from gathering further understanding of the limitless potential of what magic had to offer.

What she saw before her now was an opportunity, the likes of which she would never have possibly stumbled across in another lifetime. However, despite all of her thirst for progress, another thought suddenly sprang to mind. One which she had gone on ignoring for far too long to ever find peace if it went further unaddressed.

'I want to know what's happening to me,' she found herself blurting out loud, still maintaining her gaze determinedly in front of her. 'Malfoy and Pettigrew...that was no coincidence. I'm neither stupid nor naive. I know that you possess the knowledge of what is really going on. Tell me, I...I beg of you.'

In the same instant the last words left her, she felt him moving in closer, inadvertently shrinking the distance between their bodies even further.

'Do you like games, Miss Granger?' he enquired in a deceptively gentle tone. 'I myself find them particularly entertaining.' His hand shifted a heavy lock of her curly hair away, allowing his warm breath to caress the nape of her neck with every word he pronounced next. 'I give you permission to read every book you find within this chamber. And I hereby vow to give the answer to your question if you but find the answer to my own riddle.'

When his intoxicating voice reached her next, it was close enough to bring a hint of sensation of cool lips brushing against the shell of her ear. At that unexpected contact, something deep inside her clenched so suddenly and sharply, she would have attributed it to pain, if only it was not so much more. Reeling from the most foreign sensation of pain and pleasure combined, it took the witch some time before she understood the words that were being whispered along her skin.

'I give you two weeks. Then, I will reveal the true source of your magic, Miss Granger...if you but figure out at last the true reason behind my extermination of Muggleborns.'

* * *

><p><strong>Special Note: my eternal gratefulness goes once more to my beta Liongirl11, whose knowledge in Latin made me beam with absolute delight! Thank you! *smothers her in a hug*<strong>

**I know that some of you will have a lot of questions after this chapter. And they will all be answered – in their own time and place *cackles naughtily*  
><strong>

**Reviews will be very, _verrrrry _much appreciated (if I haven't disappointed you this far, that is)! Thank you for reading! **

_**P.S:** cookie points to those who figure out two quotes I've used from "Harry Potter" and manipulated both for my own use in this chapter... one is from the book, another from the movie! ;)_


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